


The Precipice of Change

by inukagome15



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Flirting, BAMF Anders (Dragon Age), BAMF Hawke, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Hawke, Developing Relationship, Drama, Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, Family, Flashbacks, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Inquisitor Hawke, Justice Positive, M/M, Magic, Mistaken Identity, Purple Hawke, Red Hawke, Red-Purple Hawke, Romance, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 123,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inukagome15/pseuds/inukagome15
Summary: When Hawke attended the Conclave, he hadn't intended on waking up with a glowing hand and people thinking he was Andraste's Herald. He also hadn't intended on somehow becoming the figurehead of the Inquisition. But intentions mean little in the face of action, and Hawke has never been one to back down from a challenge. When the world stands on the edge of change…what else can he do but leap?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I've been working on for almost a year now. It's still not done, it's over 100,000 words at this point, and they've only just gotten to Skyhold. But I'm going to start posting now since otherwise I'll be sitting on it for another year or so. And also because I REALLY want to share this with you guys. It's been a lot of fun to write (well, sometimes painful; but mostly fun?).
> 
> I can't really think of any warnings except for the usual body horror thing given that this is Dragon Age, and there are all sorts of body horror things associated with the blight and everything with it (isn't red lyrium AWESOME?). Also, this is an ensemble cast. Mostly told from Hawke's POV except for some exceptions, but we're going to be seeing LOTS of other characters. Including some old friends from Dragon Age 2! Although they don't crop up until _wayyy_ later. Except for Varric and Anders.
> 
> On that note, this is _very_ much an Anders-positive story. Also Justice-positive for that matter. I have a lot of head canons about these two, and they will be coming through in this story. For that matter, I have head canons about this Hawke as well. He's from my most recent playthrough as a mage, and I was so pleasantly surprised to see how well sarcasm and aggression mix together, so what we have in this story is a mix of purple-red, with maybe a slight sprinkle of blue if he feels like it.
> 
> [blossomsinthemist](http://blossomsinthemist.tumblr.com) has been an amazing help during this story's writing process! And still is! She helped me figure out the plot, some characterization difficulties, and lets me bounce scene ideas off her all the time. She also has [an AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blossomsinthemist), so please check out her stories! :D
> 
> Anyway, this first chapter is pretty similar to what's in the game. The divergence isn't going to happen until a little later. But things _will_ diverge. This is a different character, after all...

“You’d better not be dead.”

Why would he be dead?

“I mean it. If you’re dead, I’m coming after you.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good idea,” he said after a moment, turning his head to look back at Anders, who was glaring furiously at him.

“What part of this was a good idea?” Anders demanded, light flickering across his skin before fading.

“Everything?” He tilted his head back, noting the black city floating above their heads, the surrealistic quality of their surroundings. Yet it felt realer than usual; a streak of pain flared through his hand.

There was a disbelieving snort. “No, love. You – I hope you aren’t dead. I hope this is actually you and not just a spirit.”

That reminded him that Anders shouldn’t even  _be_  here. “How are you even here?”

“Justice can find you,” Anders said, frowning slightly. “This is the Fade.”

The Black City, yes. He glanced up at it, eyes going sideways to what seemed like a gaping hole in the fabric of the Fade. There was the vague inclination he should be worried about it, but he just…wasn’t.

He clenched his hand involuntarily as another pulse of pain streaked through it. “You’re safe?” he asked.

Anders’s eyes turned white, his voice reverberating now as two spoke. “ **Yes**.” Justice drew back for Anders to speak, sounding helpless, “But you aren’t.  _Please_.” He reached out as if to touch. “Don’t be dead.” His voice cracked.

He didn’t respond, eyes locked on Anders’s as he reached out to touch as well. But his hand went straight through Anders’s, and green light sparked from his palm—

Hawke started, jolting and pulling on the metal bindings around his wrists, eyes on the green sliver of light in his left palm. Sharp fire lanced through it, and he winced before he could stop the reflex.

Clenching his hand into a fist, Hawke forced himself to take a deep breath, evaluating his physical state and surroundings.

He was alive. That was clear. Otherwise he was pretty sure that he’d be somewhere other than a dank cell and accompanied by guards suspiciously eyeing him like he’d murdered the Divine before them while cackling and dancing on her bones.

He felt…fine. Other than the searing pain in his palm that pulsed like a heartbeat.

It was magic – that much was clear – but Hawke was uncertain as to what  _kind_  of magic. Only that it felt rather like the Fade if he focused on it.

But focusing on it only magnified the pain, so he withdrew his focus to elsewhere.

His mana was still in easy reach, so either they didn’t know he was a mage or didn’t think him a threat. Hawke was more inclined to believe the former than the latter, especially if they’d figured out his actual identity.

But if they  _had_ …he rather doubted that he would have woken up in chains.

Biting back a hiss as whatever was on his palm flared again, Hawke resettled his weight to sit more comfortably. Or as comfortably as he could.

It really wasn’t comfortable at all.

Resisting the urge to poke at the light on his palm, Hawke closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly and not prod at the unknown magic. He could do that later once he figured out how he’d gotten here, since he’d last been in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

He hadn’t seen Varric, but that hadn’t been the point of going.

Hawke had arrived at the temple without any issues, and he could remember that well enough. Tensions had been rife between the mages and templars there, but no one had attacked anyone on either side.

That could have had something to do with the guards wearing the unusual uniforms, but Hawke hadn’t bothered to ask who they were. He hadn’t exactly been at the Conclave on an invite, after all.

The problem was…what had happened at the Conclave?

There was…

Something had happened. He’d been sneaking through the temple, and then—

Spiders? Something glowing? And…but he’d been in the Fade? Again? He’d seen Anders, and now he was here with no idea as to how he had jumped from the temple to being locked up in a cell.

The blank spot in his memory frustrated him, but there was nothing  _there_. Only there should have been.

The sound of the lock opening on his cell door had Hawke opening his eyes to meet the fearful and angry gaze of one of his guards. He held their gaze steadily, refusing to be cowed.

The guard didn’t speak, stepping in to haul Hawke to his feet by the elbow and push him out of the cell and to the middle of the room. There he was unceremoniously shoved to the floor again, Hawke barely catching himself in time before his knees slammed into the unforgiving stone.

Huffing, Hawke resettled himself, clenching his hand as another streak of pain lanced through it. Light flared through his closed fist, sickly green and unfamiliar. The strange magic tickled at his senses, grating against his nerves.

But there was panic just under the surface, his stomach slightly unsettled despite his attempts at pushing it down. He couldn’t afford to  _panic_ here. He was alive and able to fight, and that was really all that mattered.

Hawke could do this, he  _could_ —

The strange mark pulsed once more before the doors slammed open and two people entered. He didn’t recognize the first, but the second was…Leliana?

Forcing himself to breathe slowly, pushing the simmering panic down, Hawke kept quietly still.

Neither spoke for a long moment, Leliana coming up on Hawke’s right side to peer at him with piercing eyes. She didn’t seem to recognize him, which was a point in Hawke’s favor and helped settle some of the nerves.

The unfamiliar woman circled threateningly around Hawke, footsteps loud against the stone before she leaned down to say, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

Hawke barely managed to resist flinching at the sudden sound of her voice.

Calm down, calm  _down_.

She straightened, finishing her circle around Hawke. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

Okay, that…that was something he could focus on. Something other than the panic and his lack of knowledge.

How had the Conclave been destroyed?

And how in Andraste’s name was it always  _him_  who drew the short straw?

The unfamiliar woman reached down to pull his left hand up, snapping, “Explain this.”

Hawke yanked his arm away before he could help himself, glaring at her. The magic in his hand flared sharply, streaking pain up his arm before it dissipated. The woman stared down at him for another moment, eyes sharp and clearly expecting an answer.

Swallowing down the remaining nerves, Hawke reached for his default weapon. “You know as much as I do, which would seem to be absolutely nothing.”

The woman didn’t seem amused at his wit, although that could probably be because he hadn’t exactly said it nicely. “Don’t be smart with me. The mark is on  _your_  hand.”

“That doesn’t mean I know how it  _got_  there.” Hawke couldn’t keep the irritation out of his tone. “Let alone how I came to be  _here_.”

The woman lunged forward. “You’re lying!”

Leliana snatched her back before she could do much more than attempt to strangle Hawke. “We need him, Cassandra!”

“Which would be why I’m locked up here,” Hawke said before he could stop himself. “Your logic is incredibly sound.”

“You fell out of the Fade,” Cassandra said sharply. “You were the sole survivor of what destroyed the Conclave. Did you think we would do anything else?”

Hawke decided to ignore the bit about falling out of the Fade. Surely  _that_  hadn’t happened. “You think  _I_  destroyed it?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Leliana asked before Cassandra could speak again. “How this began?”

“I don’t.” Hawke shifted, nails digging into the palm of his left hand as he forced his muscles to relax. The strange mark was calm for the moment. “But there were spiders and something glowing involved. Make of that what you will.”

“Was there any sign of a woman?”

The question seemed utterly nonsensical, and Hawke made clear his opinion of it by raising an eyebrow.

There was a disgusted noise from Cassandra. “You fell out of the Fade,” she said from behind him, “and there was a woman behind you.”

“Because women live in the Fade.” But even as Hawke said it, he couldn’t help but think about what that glowing thing had  _looked_  like. It  _might_  have been a woman? If one squinted and looked sideways.

Ugh, his head hurt.

Cassandra was looking vaguely murderous by now.

“Cassandra.” The word was quiet but hard.

Twisting her lips and glowering down at Hawke, Cassandra turned to Leliana. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the Rift.”

With one last concerned look for the two of them, Leliana left, picking up her pace as she was out of sight.

Once alone with the guards, Cassandra pulled out a key to open the shackles locking Hawke’s hands in place.

“This ‘Rift’ sounds ominous.” Hawke rubbed his wrists, letting Cassandra help pull him to his feet before she pulled out some rope to bind his hands. “Any chance you’ll tell me what it is?”

Cassandra didn’t answer immediately, attention focused on tightening the rope. “It…will be easier to show you.”

The words didn’t make Hawke feel any better, heart skipping a beat. Something was clearly wrong; Hawke didn’t need the strange mark on his hand to tell him that, although it certainly helped.

It pulsed painfully, throbbing up his arm. It was manageable so far – Hawke had had worse injuries – but it wasn’t something he wanted to live with long term.

If he could just figure out how to  _manage_  it—

His thoughts stuttered to a halt as they stepped outside into the freezing cold, sprinkles of snow falling on his face as the wind whipped past them. The snow crunched under his feet, uneven and slippery in places.

But Hawke’s attention was on the massive  _hole in the sky_. The hole that was glowing that same sickly green as the mark on his hand.

“We call it ‘the Breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” Cassandra turned her head to look back at him. “It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“Bullshit.” Hawke forced himself to look away and meet Cassandra’s eyes. He squared his shoulders, confident that he at least knew this. “You can’t just tear a hole into the Fade because of an  _explosion_.”

“Ordinarily I would agree with you, but this one did.” Cassandra glanced over her shoulder to look at it again. “It’s hard to argue with that, wouldn’t you say?”

Hawke pulled in a sharp breath, eyes flickering to the Breach. “I didn’t do that,” he said flatly.

“You are our only suspect for the moment.” Cassandra’s eyes were piercing.

“The only one you  _found_.” Since Hawke was 100% sure he didn’t go ripping holes in the fabric of nature.

Cassandra’s lips thinned. “We need to act now, lest the Breach grow to swallow the world.”

“Can it… _do_  that?”

“It’s growing larger as time passes. I would rather not wait to find out if it will stop on its own. Would you?”

Really, there was nothing Hawke could say to that.

A loud explosion rang through the air, the Breach seeming to  _pulse_.

And the mark on Hawke’s hand exploded into fiery pain, so much worse than before. He staggered sideways, crying out and hunching over, tightly fisting his hand as if that could  _help_.

It was glowing a fierce green, the magic radiating off it making Hawke nauseous.

The mark pulsed again, stronger than before, and Hawke’s knees gave way. He curled into a ball, his left hand tucked in tightly against his stomach. Pulling in rapid tight breaths through his teeth, Hawke focused on the mark and tried to isolate the magic from where it was coursing through his body.

Cassandra was talking to him, but he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention.

The magic slipped through his hands as he tried catching it, too bright and sharp for his senses. But it was  _magic_.

And he could do magic.

With a small grunt of effort, Hawke managed to squash it, managing to coax the magic to being somewhat stable instead of streaking up his arm.

“It may be the key to stopping this,” Cassandra said when Hawke looked up, her gaze steady.

Hawke dropped his eyes to the glowing mark, flexing his fingers. It wasn’t even in question, was it? If he could fix this somehow, then he was going to do it. “Then take me there.”

Surprise flickered over Cassandra’s face, only to be quickly wiped out with a carefully blank expression. She did help him to his feet, her grip reassuring for a moment before she let go and pushed him ahead to walk.

Hawke set his gaze forward, ignoring the stares of the people around him, and put his mind to the task ahead.

It was just another quest. He could do this.

He would have to in order to get back to Anders.

* * *

Of course things weren’t ever that simple, were they?

The Breach was spitting out demons.

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to fighting, but he was used to having more backup than a suspicious woman who looked like she could go toe-to-toe with Fenris.

Still, the normality of it helped settle the last of his nerves. Fighting was something he was  _good_  at, even if he was dodging more than fighting at the moment.

Cassandra was doing fine facing off the one that had appeared a ways off, but Hawke was facing down another, and while he could certainly flash fry it, he didn’t think showing his hand yet was a good idea.

Ducking the demon’s swipe, Hawke dove for the debris of the bridge that had collapsed under their feet. Surely there had to be something there?

It took a moment and more scrabbling than Hawke was comfortable with, but he managed to get his hands on a dagger. He promptly threw it into the shade, kicking it for good measure.

Shrieking, the shade clutched at the dagger, trying in vain to pull it out.

Hawke lunged at it, grasping hold of the dagger’s hilt and channeling a burst of focused electricity through it. The shade exploded a moment later, its shriek ringing through his head.

Shaking his head, Hawke tightened his grip around the dagger, turning to Cassandra – only to find her holding her sword to his chest.

“Drop it,” Cassandra snapped.

Hawke remained carefully still, scanning her face. She didn’t seem to have noticed his use of magic, which was good. He would be slipping if she had.

“You’d rather I be defenseless next time demons drop down on our heads?” Hawke said eventually. He twirled the dagger around, raising an eyebrow. “You did say you needed me, didn’t you?”

A muscle ticked in Cassandra’s jaw, but she did incline her head, sighing. “You’re right. I cannot protect you. It would be best if you had a weapon of your own.”

“Thank you for your permission, kind lady.” Hawke flipped the dagger around in his hand, scanning for another that he could use as well. He kicked aside some debris before finding a second that was slightly longer and not as sharp but would still do the trick.

“You are a rogue, then?” Cassandra asked, watching him bind the daggers to his clothes for easy reach.

“Naturally,” Hawke answered easily, shooting her a beaming smile. The last of the nerves had faded in the rush of adrenaline from the fight, and he found it easier to breathe. He flexed his left hand, the unfamiliar magic pulsing in reminder of the fact that everything wasn’t all right. “Let’s go, hm?”

“Take these.” Cassandra handed several health potions out. “Just in case.”

Hawke slipped them into the bag at his side, rifling through it to see if he still had the smoke bombs and other explosive devices that he needed for his cover. He bit back a curse upon realizing that it was empty.

Either Cassandra had everything taken out or they had fallen out sometime in the interim. Either was possible.

Regardless, Hawke would have to make do without unless he could loot something from somewhere. Namely a corpse.

He could just hear Isabela preaching the virtues of looting corpses since  _they_  weren’t using their goodies anymore, were they? They were dead!

He wasn’t too sure if Cassandra would agree with that, but still…

Hawke did stop to discreetly rifle through the pockets of a body as Cassandra scouted ahead. He didn’t find anything other than some coins that he pocketed.

Quickly catching up to Cassandra, Hawke focused on not slipping and falling on his ass. Haven’s snow and ice was far thicker and more slippery than what he was used to in Kirkwall and Ferelden. Granted, with Kirkwall it frequently turned into a disgusting sort of slush, but Ferelden had snow in the winter.

They encountered some more demons, but they were quickly dispatched between the two of them. Cassandra didn’t seem to notice Hawke electrocuting the demons via dagger, but he made sure to not explode them and finished them off with a few well-placed stabs.

“Is the mark bothering you?” Cassandra asked as they headed up the mountain.

Hawke pressed his hand against his thigh, checking that the magic was still contained within his palm. “It’s manageable. How much further?”

“We are still a ways from the Breach, but we need to test your mark on a smaller rift first.”

“And you know of one?”

“Yes.” Cassandra jumped up on a ledge. “Come. It is not much further.”

Hawke could hear sounds of fighting, along with the familiar sensation of demons. He kept a slight distance behind Cassandra, hands going to his daggers.

The sound of Bianca firing arrows was the first thing Hawke noticed. The second was Varric facing down several demons and accompanied by an elf who was freezing demons in place for Varric to turn into a pincushion.

The rift in the air was the third thing Hawke saw, although it should really have been the first. The mark flared sharply, green light bursting forth despite Hawke’s best efforts to contain it.

Jumping down from the ledge, Hawke split off from Cassandra to take down a demon about to hit Varric’s blind spot.

It went down without a fight, and Hawke threw his dagger over Varric’s head to nail another in its face. The moment the demon dissipated, Hawke grabbed the dagger and whirled on the next one, kicking it over to Varric for him to shoot an arrow in.

The elf and Cassandra took care of the rest and Hawke barely had time to breathe before the elf grabbed hold of his hand.

“Quickly – before more come through!” The elf pulled his hand up towards the rift, something  _pulling_  from the mark and stretching out to the rift. Energy surged through Hawke’s hand, jarring in its unfamiliarity, but the rift was sealed in a moment.

Hawke yanked his tingling hand away from the elf, eyeing him warily. He could feel the Fade hugging him more closely than most mages Hawke had seen. “What did you do?”

The elf turned to him, lips pulling into a smile. “I did nothing. The credit is yours.”

Magic didn’t just  _react_  like that. Something had pulled from the mark, initiating the process that had closed the rift, and Hawke sure as hell hadn’t started it.

The elf continued speaking. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said, a hopeful smile on her face.

“Possibly.” The elf looked back to Hawke. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Literally.” Hawke clenched his hand into a fist, hiding the green flickering from the mark. “Who are you?”

“My name is Solas.” Solas’s eyes were keen. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

“By which he means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’” Varric narrowed his eyes briefly at Hawke, but his face cleared as he continued speaking. “Which would have been bad, since you’re what’s going to clear up this mess, yeah?” He was grinning slyly now. “Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tagalong.” He winked at Cassandra, who pulled a disgruntled face.

Hawke resisted the urge to stroke his face, which was without a beard for the first time in years. It had been the best disguise he and Anders could come up with on short notice, but it had certainly done the trick.

“We need to go to the forward camp and meet Leliana,” Cassandra said, eyes moving from Varric to Hawke.

Varric snapped his fingers. “That’s an excellent idea!”

“No,” Cassandra snapped. “You are not coming.”

“Too bad.” Varric shrugged. “Have you been in the Valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore.” He tilted his head up to look Cassandra in the eye. “You need me.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise – exactly like the one she had made before in the cell – and turned her back to Varric. “Fine. Solas, what have you found out?”

Solas tilted his head. “The magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. Even if your prisoner were a mage, he would not have been able to wield the power necessary to cause it.”

“Understood.” Cassandra strode forward. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

Hawke didn’t immediately follow after her and Solas, carefully not looking down at Varric.

Varric bumped against him. “How about we get to know each other later when we’re not ass-deep in demons?” He glanced sidelong at Hawke, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. “Bianca’s excited!”

Hawke curled his fingers around the smoke and explosive bombs Varric had slipped him, returning Varric’s small smile with his own. “Would that be your crossbow?”

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Varric confirmed cheerfully. “C’mon, Trevelyan.”

Varric’s ability to drop important information in casual conversations would never cease to amaze Hawke. Particularly since he had wondered just who they thought he was. Trevelyan was a name he had only passing familiarity with, but it was enough.

With a small inhale, Hawke shoved the bombs into his bag and followed after Cassandra and Solas. The last of the nervous tension he’d been carrying seeped out now that he wasn’t completely  _alone_. Varric was here, and he’d always been able to rely on him.

If luck continued to be on his side, then this would be solved without any major mishaps.

* * *

Hawke had been decidedly unimpressed by the Chancellor. In fact, he had been decidedly unimpressed by the whole affair, and all he’d wanted was to head to the giant hole in the sky and seal it.

So he’d stepped in and announced they would be going through the mountains, since he had no desire to run headlong through a battlefield filled with who knows what. Compared to that, whatever had attacked Cassandra’s lost force would be a walk in the park.

Which it was, and then they were at what was left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Corpses were everywhere, faces frozen in fear and anguish. Their skin was blistering and red, many of them paralyzed in the same position they had been in when they’d died.

The smell was overwhelming but somewhat comparable to Kirkwall’s Darktown.

Only this wasn’t Darktown, and it wasn’t Kirkwall. It was the Temple of Sacred Ashes and it was in  _ruins_.

Breathing through his mouth, Hawke walked through the ruins, carefully sidestepping the frozen bodies and feeling out the debris before placing his weight on it. No one else spoke, an air of silent horror hanging over them and what the explosion had wrought.

Something familiar and vaguely forgotten tingled at the edges of his senses – something that he’d sensed before but couldn’t quite name – yet it was difficult to pinpoint it with everything else clamoring for his attention. The Veil was thin here – thinner than it had been before. He could hear echoes of screams and what sounded like stone splintering. The magic was also strong, tingling at his skin and so close all he would have to do was pull on his mana and picture what he wanted.

The mark in his hand pulsed, energy flaring briefly as they drew closer to the Breach. The pain was a dull ache, but by now he could push it to the back of his head and ignore it. There was no rhythm to when it worsened, but he’d experienced worse and could grit his teeth through it.

At least it wasn’t so bad that it would bring him to his knees again.

And then he saw it. A rift – larger than the ones he’d seen before – and the Breach far above it.

How was he supposed to close that? It was – it was  _monstrous_ , the magic seeped into the stones around them and so strong that it set his teeth on edge. The other rifts had been manageable once he had practice, but  _this_  one?

He didn’t think he could close it, let alone  _touch_  it. Yet he had to try.

Hawke had enough time to take in the layout of the temple before footsteps sounded from behind and Leliana rounded the corner.

“You’re here!” Leliana sounded relieved. “Thank the Maker.”

Cassandra’s voice was brisk as she ordered Leliana to position her men around the temple. Hawke was too busy evaluating how on earth he was supposed to  _get up there_  to pay more attention than that.

“Were you thinking of throwing me up there?” Hawke craned his neck to peer up at the Breach, breathing in the taste of magic and something otherworldly that could only be the Fade.

“No.” Solas wasn’t looking at the Breach but at the rift, which wasn’t doing anything other than sitting there. “This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

Hawke looked over the ledge, noting the drop and deciding he would rather not break any bones that he didn’t have to. “We’ll have to find a way down, then.”

The path was rough and uneven, stone splintering off when he stepped too close to the edges, but it was solid rock in other places, some kind of heat having melted it together. Hawke jumped down a ledge, hearing the others follow suit, and carefully walked forwards.

“Now is the hour of our victory. Keep the sacrifice still.”

That voice – that  _voice_. He’d heard it before – in his dreams and in his waking life.

But it  _couldn’t_  be.

“At a guess – the person who created the Breach,” Solas said in response to something Cassandra had asked.

Maybe Hawke was mishearing it. There was no figure to link to the voice. It was entirely possible it was someone else.

Varric didn’t have any hint of recognition on his face, and he was too busy staring at something just to the right of Hawke.

Hawke followed his gaze, only to flinch back at the sight of  _red lyrium_  growing from the walls. Now he recognized the sensation from earlier, that disgusting feeling that only red lyrium had.

“You know this stuff is  _red lyrium_ , Seeker.” Varric sounded horrified.

“I see it, Varric.”

Varric shot her a sharp look. “But what’s it  _doing_  here?”

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium from beneath the temple – corrupted it…” That Solas didn’t sound at all confident about this theory didn’t help Hawke feel better.

That red lyrium hadn’t been there before. He  _knew_  that.

“It’s evil. Whatever you do don’t touch it.” Varric glanced at Hawke, eyebrows furrowed. His lips twisted, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Keep the sacrifice still.” That voice  _again_.

“Someone help me!”

Hawke didn’t recognize the woman’s voice, but Cassandra did. “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!”

Echoes of the Fade, bleeding through to the real world so they could hear what had happened… It could distort things, make it seem unreal and not like what had actually happened.

Hawke had  _killed him_.

They approached more red lyrium, and Hawke carefully sidestepped around it, holding his breath at the heat radiating off it. He couldn’t hear what made it so enticing, but he didn’t  _want_  to. It repelled every inch of him, something about it just so  _wrong_.

Hawke rounded the next corner, heading down closer to the pit where they could reach the rift. There weren’t any other voices coming through, and at this point he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it again or just leave it be and  _not know_.

Jumping from the last ledge, Hawke landed in a light crouch, the mark on his hand flaring at the same time as more voices poured forth from the rift.

“Someone help me!”

His voice came next, disembodied and distorted. “What’s going on?  _You_?!”

“That was your voice.” Cassandra sounded amazed and disbelieving. “Most Holy called out to you. But…”

A ghostly image coalesced before them, Divine Justinia floating above their heads and bound in place by red magic. There was another image before her, shadowy and lean with no discernible features. It was as if the Fade couldn’t give shape to what it was supposed to be.

Hawke saw himself barge onto the scene behind Justinia. “What’s going on?” His face distorted into stunned surprise and horror. “ _You_?! It can’t be!”

“Run while you can!” Justinia shouted. “Warn them!”

“We have an intruder. Kill him.”

Hawke couldn’t breathe, seeing that lean, shadowy figure point at his ghostly double. Those fingers, the voice that he heard in his nightmares, the voice that he heard whenever he replayed that battle—

_“Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?”_

Corypheus?  _Corypheus_?

Hawke turned to Varric, half-expecting him to have a similar expression of realization and “oh shit,” but Varric didn’t seem to realize just who they were facing. He was eyeing Hawke strangely, as if he couldn’t understand why Hawke was so silent.

And probably ashen-faced. Hawke was feeling a little wobbly at the moment.

Suddenly Cassandra was in his face, jabbing her finger in his chest. “You  _were_  there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…?” Her anger seemed to fade. “Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t…” Hawke pinched his nose, shaking his head. “Shit, I don’t remember.”

He’d  _killed_  Corypheus. Varric, Anders, and Carver had all been there with him. Corypheus was  _dead_.

Only he apparently wasn’t. The Hawke from the past had recognized whomever it was, even if Hawke now couldn’t see the figure properly.

“Echoes of what happened here,” Solas said, looking up to the rift. “The Fade bleeds into this place.” He stepped closer to the rift, the green glow illuminating his features eerily. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed…albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

Cassandra whirled, giving Leliana a sharp look. “That means demons. Stand ready!”

Swallowing, Hawke clenched his left hand into a fist, looking up to the rift and the Breach above it. Here, so much closer than before, the magic was so tangible that he could  _taste_  it, and it was utterly overwhelming. Even if he didn’t have to close the Breach itself, this rift was a great deal larger than the others he’d had to close, and he wasn’t entirely sure—

“C’mon,” Varric murmured, his voice reassuring.

Right. He could do this.

Squaring his shoulders, Hawke raised his left hand and  _focused_.

Opening it was a great deal easier than he’d expected.

The rift blew open, and the first thing it spat out was an enormous pride demon.

“Fuck.” Hawke stared at it, one hand going to a dagger. He glanced up at the rift, back to the pride demon, and then to the rift again. “ _Fuck_.”

“We must strip its defenses!” Cassandra shouted, hacking away at the pride demon’s legs. “Wear it down!”

Well,  _sure_. That was a  _great_  idea.

Hawke ducked under a lance of lightning from the demon, whipping out his other dagger. He couldn’t chance close combat with a demon of that size – not without relying on magic – but he could deal some damage from afar.

And with the magic saturating this place, it was highly unlikely they’d notice anything a little flashier.

Pulling in a slow breath, Hawke kept an eye on Solas. The moment he cast another ice spell, attempting to freeze the demon in place, Hawke added his own magic, closing his eyes briefly so no one would notice the flash.

It came easier than usual, likely because of how close the Fade was to this place. He didn’t hesitate before casting another spell, picturing the image in his mind and calling it to life: a subtle paralysis glyph that the demon would have to pass over before attacking Cassandra.

It wouldn’t hold it, but it would slow its movements enough for Cassandra to get some extra damage in.

Stepping back behind Varric, who was busy shooting arrows at the demon with a grim expression, Hawke looked back up at the rift, flexing his hand. He’d  _opened_  it, but couldn’t he…mess with it in the meantime?

Maybe it was possible to close it while they were fighting the demon? He could draw on the magic around him to help bolster whatever the mark did.

Hawke pulled at the rift, teasing at the magic and struggling to  _bind_  it like he had with the smaller ones. It writhed under his hold, unwilling to heed the magic of the mark in his hand. Without warning, it slipped entirely from his grasp as the demon roared defiantly.

Flinching from the backlash, Hawke wrenched his hand down, shaking it as tingles of pain streaked through it and up his arm. But the rift was more stable than before, and the demon actually seemed stunned.

Cassandra noticed as well. “The demon is vulnerable – now!”

“You think you can do that again?” Varric asked, hitching Bianca a little higher in preparation.

Hawke rubbed at his wrist, deliberately ignoring the green light peeking through his clenched fingers. “We’ll see.”

The next few minutes were a blur as the demon started striking back and the rift opened again, spitting out even  _more_  demons. Hawke jumped around the battlefield, too busy trying to kill the demons before they could get the jump on him or Varric to bother trying to close the rift again.

It would probably just blow him back this time since it hadn’t appreciated his previous efforts, and Hawke couldn’t afford being taken out of the fight now.

He stabbed a dagger into a shade’s head, throwing an explosive at another that tried to sneak up behind him. He flash-fried both in the cover of the explosion, jumping out of the fray and throwing a dagger at another shade that tried to corner Varric.

Then, hearing the pride demon’s fading roar, Hawke whirled and lifted his hand up again, grabbing hold of the rift’s magic with a wrench and pulling it  _down_.

He realized his mistake only a second later, the sheer  _magnitude_  of the rift utterly overwhelming. He knew what he had to do, but the rift kept pulling  _back_ , drawing  _from_  his mana and the mark in unison until he couldn’t do anything but hold on and try to close it.

Closing his eyes, Hawke found he couldn’t breathe, breath stalling in his lungs even as he tried to pull more oxygen in.

All he knew was that he  _had to close it_.

Lightning seared up his arm, striking his pounding heart. Hawke found himself flying, only to hit the hard ground seconds later.

He couldn’t  _breathe_.

His hand was on fire, he couldn’t feel most of his arm, and the only thing he could hear was his heart thundering in his ears.

The green light of the flickering mark was the last thing he saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, check out Hawke [without a beard](https://68.media.tumblr.com/b325113f4d9cbfae7085291a51fac9fd/tumblr_op1hxa3kfd1s69wf4o1_1280.png)! :D Minus the bloody streak on the nose (or is it PAINT?).  
> That's a wrap for this first chapter! And to your introduction to this Hawke. (Can you believe AO3 doesn't have a demisexual tag for Hawke? BLASPHEMY.)
> 
> I do have kind of an update schedule for this. Plans are to update every two weeks for now, since the story is still a WIP and I would rather not leave you guys hanging for a very long time.
> 
> That said, I adore feedback! I probably won't answer all questions given that some of them will doubtlessly be answered as the story continues, but there are others that I'd be happy to answer.


	2. Haven I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never realized but this chapter is actually...really short? I think it's because in the process of writing I chopped this and Chapter 3, since that was getting too long. Chapter 3 is just under 6,000 words, but I will say that some chapters are longer than others, especially once we get more into the game.
> 
> You'll notice I added some tags! Which is...well...you'll find out? That relationship has been one of the things I've really enjoyed writing.
> 
> I like this chapter for Hawke being hopelessly confused and full of NOPEs, and there will be more of that coming.

_Anders’s distressed voice echoed. “I’m not listening, I’m not listening.”_

_Larius with his blighted visage and faded eyes, but his voice still clear and frantic as he warned them of the danger. “Do not say his name! He will hear you! Do not wake him!”_

_“Stop! Just make him stop talking! Make him stop!”_

_“Help me, love.”_

_The terrifying visage of an ancient darkspawn floating from its prison wasn’t what he expected, although he didn’t know **what**  he’d expected when he’d decided to begin unlocking the wards. But he’d gotten what he asked for, and he didn’t know what to do with it._

_And then the darkspawn **spoke**. “Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?”_

_“You are what held me. I smell the blood in you.”_

_“I’m…trying…to…hold…on.”_

_“Anders…”_

_“I’m here, I’m here…”_

_He saw himself run into a room, facing down the terrifying visage of Corypheus, only this time there was no one backing him up. He was **alone** —_

_“The **Hawke**. I smell the blood in you.”_

Hawke floundered awake, limbs strangled by something wrapped over and around him. It was probably the only thing stopping him from instinctively reacting to the gasp he heard from several feet away, since otherwise he would’ve used magic to freeze them in place.

As it was, it took him a few seconds too long to realize that he was wrapped in a blanket and that the person he’d almost inadvertently attacked was an unfamiliar elf who looked absolutely terrified to be staring him in the face.

“Oh!” the elf squeaked. “I didn’t know you were awake! I swear!”

“What?” was all Hawke managed, his mouth dry. “Where—” He scrambled upright, kicking the blankets off and going to stand upright, immediately regretting the motion when his head swam dizzyingly and his vision blacked out.

Hawke could practically hear Anders scolding him for standing too quickly.

Well, it wasn’t like he really listened even when Anders was here, although he could be persuaded otherwise. Namely through threats.

Forcing himself forward, Hawke went to the window, staring out at the snow and brief view of the village he was in. He turned to the silent elf, demanding, “Where am I?”

“I – you’re back in Haven, my lord.” The elf fell to her knees, bowing deeply to Hawke. “I humbly beg your forgiveness and your blessing.”

Hawke stared dumbly. “What?” He felt rather like a broken record.

“They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!”

At the reminder, Hawke glanced down at his left hand and the mark he’d forgotten about. It was dormant, but he could feel the magic tingling under his skin now that he was paying attention. A low hum that sang in his hand, constant and with a throbbing that was impossible to ignore now that he realized it was there.

“It’s closed, then?” Hawke asked, looking back up to the elf.

She stood up, wringing her hands as she took a slow step back. “The Breach is still in the sky, but that’s what they say.”

Before Hawke could say anything else, the elf blurted out, “I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said ‘at once’!”

“Did she?” Hawke curled his fingers into a fist, shooting one last glance out the window. “And where is our Lady Cassandra?”

The elf didn’t seem to notice his sardonic tone. “In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said!” She fled before Hawke could press for more information – such as where this Chantry was – leaving him alone in the cabin.

Exhaling slowly, Hawke let his shoulders slump, dropping his gaze to his hand. It wasn’t flaring green anymore, but…

He pulled at it. Green light immediately flared into life, crackling with energy and a wild magic that Hawke couldn’t quite identify.

Hawke twisted his hand, flexing his fingers and seeing how the mark moved with the motion. It didn’t seem to be doing anything at the moment other than just…sitting in his hand. Where it shouldn’t be sitting.

With a sigh, Hawke let the magic go, the green light subsiding until his hand looked like it always did. Except for the humming of the mark.

Resisting the urge to rub at it, Hawke took stock of the cabin and what was in it. The daggers that he’d procured on the way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes lay in a corner in a basket, although someone seemed to have thoughtfully sharpened the duller one. Both were also noticeably shinier than they had been before.

He was down to one smoke bomb, but his clothes were much fresher than they had been before. There was also a distinct lack of blood and demon ichor, and he felt vaguely sorry for whomever had to deal with cleaning them.

Not that they were technically  _his_  clothes. They’d been a disguise that had served their purpose, but putting them on would probably be better than running out in his smallclothes. Especially in this weather.

Once dressed and with his daggers discreetly located in an easily accessible location, Hawke opened the door, finding it only  _slightly_  less colder than it had been before. It wasn’t snowing at the moment, and the sun was shining.

As the elf had said, the Breach was still in the sky, as large as it had been before. It glowed ominously, swirling and offering a glimpse into the Fade. But it wasn’t growing, and it definitely wasn’t spitting out more demons.

Given the lack of preparation he’d had, Hawke supposed that was all he could have expected.

There were a lot of people around, all of them shooting him not-so-discreet glances and talking about him in rather loud voices.

By now, Hawke was unfortunately rather used to people talking about him when he was in plain earshot, but it wasn’t like he  _liked_  it. He’d been an apostate for so long that it was discomfiting to have his presence so visible. Even if these people didn’t know he was an apostate at this point.

It was habit that had him listening to the conversations around him as he made his way through the crowd and to where he thought the Chantry was. And it was only habit that had him continue walking when he heard what they were actually saying.

“That’s him. That’s the Herald of Andraste. They said when he came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over him.”

What?

Herald of  _Andraste_?

Maker’s breath, what were these people  _on_?

Feeling his shoulders slowly inch up to his ears, Hawke picked up the pace, barely coming short of looking like he was running.

“Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste,” someone told him.

“Right,” Hawke muttered, shouldering past them before they could do anything else like ask him for  _his blessing_  and maybe ask him to kiss a baby’s forehead.

One couldn’t miss the Chantry. It was the biggest and fanciest building in Haven, and there were a multitude of tents set up outside of it.

The doors were heavy but slid open easily as he pushed against them, although they were a lot louder than he would have preferred.

The Chantry was darker than expected, with no windows but a multitude of candles lighting up the inside. There was absolutely no one inside, but he could hear voices at the far end behind a closed door.

Closing the main doors as quietly as he could, Hawke allowed himself a small moment to panic before shoving it down and moving forward again.

He desperately needed to talk to Varric, but first he had to get an idea of what was happening here. Corypheus was involved, so he couldn’t just  _leave_. Not without knowing what information they’d gathered since he’d managed to stop the Breach from growing.

Whoever was inside that room was talking loudly enough to be overheard even from the other end of the Chantry.

“Have you gone completely mad? He should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.” If Hawke remembered correctly, that would be the lovely Chancellor Roderick.

“I do not believe he is guilty.” There was Cassandra.

“The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, he intended it this way.”

“I do not believe that.”

Hawke paused outside the door, one hand resting on the wood as he listened for more.

“That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to the serve the Chantry.”

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours.”

 _Own it_ , Hawke reminded himself, swallowing the nerves that roiled in his stomach. It was a game, and one that he could play well enough.

Without further ado, Hawke slammed the door open, fixing the occupants within with his best unimpressed look. “You weren’t talking about me, were you? My ears are just burning.”

Roderick ignored him, looking at two guards. “Chain him. I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

Hawke shot the guards a glare. “Try it.”

Cassandra’s eyes flickered to him in silent warning. “Disregard that, and leave us.”

The guards didn’t even look to Roderick as they saluted Cassandra and tried to pass by Hawke, who didn’t move. After an awkward moment of staring, they eventually managed to squeeze by.

Hawke folded his arms across his chest, raising his eyebrow at Cassandra’s disbelieving face.

Roderick’s lips curled, his eyes on Hawke. “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

Cassandra looked back at Roderick. “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

“Or you could, but”—Hawke shrugged—“probably wouldn’t go too well, would it?”

Roderick narrowed his eyes. “Was that a threat?”

“What part of that sounded like a threat?”

“Enough,” Cassandra snapped. “Chancellor, Trevelyan held true to his word, and he is no longer a suspect. That he failed is not his fault but that of inadequate preparation. Regardless, the Breach is not the only threat we face.”

Leliana spoke, eyes on Roderick. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live.”

Roderick looked appalled. “ _I_  am a suspect?”

“ _You_ …” Leliana paused, then added, “And many others.”

“But  _not_  the prisoner.” Roderick shot Hawke a disgusted look.

“I heard the voices in the temple.” Cassandra dropped her eyes briefly before lifting them to meet Hawke’s. “The Divine called to him for help.”

“So his survival, that  _thing_  on his hand – all a coincidence?”

“Providence. The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”

“You really believe that?” Hawke couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “You – of course you do.” They had no idea he was a mage.

“Is that so surprising?” Cassandra asked. “You are no mage, and yet no mage would have the power to tear open the sky. But you are here, and you are here for a reason. The Maker works in mysterious ways. Why would He not send you?”

“The Breach remains, and your mark is our only hope of closing it,” Leliana said, inclining her head.

Hawke clenched his left hand into a fist, briefly thankful that his arms were still folded over his chest. “Is it? You didn’t find another way?”

“That is precisely my question!” Roderick whirled to Cassandra. “Surely you are not reliant on this  _man_  to close what he most presumably was responsible for causing in the first place!”

“We have tried and failed,” Cassandra said sharply, picking up a large book from the table in the back of the room. “His mark was the  _only_  thing that had any effect on the rifts. Do you honestly expect us to send him off with you when we have no other reliable method of dealing with the rifts that are appearing all over Thedas?”

“This is not for you to decide!”

Cassandra dropped the book on the table between them, jabbing a finger down onto the cover – which displayed an eye. “You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She stalked towards Roderick, backing him up against the wall and poking him in the chest. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.”

There was a furious look on his face, but Roderick didn’t say anything else, shooting Hawke one last venomous glare before leaving the room entirely.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Leliana spoke to Hawke. “This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

As if the lack of Chantry support was such an enormous loss.

Cassandra came around the table to stand before Hawke. “But we have no choice: We must act now. With you at our side.”

Hawke stepped aside, arms dropping to his sides as he studied the thick book on the table. “My history’s slightly lacking here. You’ll have to tell me what this ‘Inquisition’ is before I agree to join anything.”

“It preceded the Chantry,” Leliana said. “People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

Cassandra added, “After, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order. But the templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done united under a single banner once more.”

“Saying that the templars have lost their way is rather like saying that the Conclave was a roaring success,” Hawke said dryly. “You want to recreate the organization that preceded the Templar Order? Is that even a good idea considering what  _happened_  to the templars?”

“This is a new Inquisition,” Cassandra said. “Who can say what will happen afterwards? But that is not our present concern. We must deal with the Breach and what caused it. The Chantry cannot help us; they will first need to elect a new Divine.”

“Which will take time,” Leliana said. “Time we do not have.”

“We are on our own for now.” Cassandra glanced down at the book, eyes hard. “Perhaps forever.”

“Fantastic.” Hawke turned his left hand up, rubbing at his palm as he considered his next move.

Corypheus was most likely involved. Hawke didn’t have the resources needed to figure out how to track him down or figure out what he was up to. But if he could work with the Inquisition…maybe something could come of it.

As it was, he was the only one who could actually close the rifts, at least until something else came along. Which it probably wouldn’t.

“I’ll help,” Hawke said finally, meeting Cassandra’s eyes. “This needs to be solved.”

Cassandra didn’t look relieved, but there was a general air of “thank the Maker” hovering around her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Hawke clasped her outstretched hand, giving her a grim smile. “We haven’t even started.”

“I have faith this will work out,” Cassandra assured him, a faint smile flickering at her lips.

“You’ll have to have enough for the both of us then.”

* * *

Finding Varric was more troublesome than Hawke had anticipated. He wasn’t in the tavern, where he technically  _should_  have been considering all the time he’d spent in the Hanged Man. But then the tavern here didn’t quite have the same charm.

He could technically have asked someone, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with their wide eyes and “Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste” firsthand.

So that led him to carefully wandering around Haven and keeping an eye out for a beardless dwarf.

He didn’t find Varric, but he did find Solas.

“The Herald of Andraste,” Solas said before Hawke could attempt to sneak away. “A blessed hero here to save us all.”

Considering whether he should leave or stay and be polite, Hawke decided he should nip the “Herald of Andraste” thing in the bud before Solas got any ideas. “I’m not the Herald of Andraste.”

Solas tilted his head. “Whether you are or you aren’t, the people here believe you are. The posturing is necessary.”

In Hawke’s considerable experience, posturing did absolutely nothing other than yield a particularly large headache. “Really.”

“Do you not think so?”

Shrugging, Hawke said, “I don’t claim to be chosen, simply unfortunate. I won’t pretend to be chosen either. What they believe is on them.”

“As it often is.” Solas turned to the side, looking over the stone fence by his cabin. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.” He glanced back at Hawke, eyes bright. “Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

Hawke barely restrained a wince, clenching his jaw. “I’m no hero.”

Solas’s smile was sympathetic. “What you believe may not matter.”

It usually didn’t. Hawke shifted uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders. He glanced askance, searching for an exit when he realized what Solas had said before. “You said you’ve been in the Fade?”

Solas seemed to brighten at the question. “Yes. I go to ancient ruins and battlefields, where the Veil is thin and spirits press tightly against it, weakening the barrier. When I dream in these places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

Hawke had never heard of a mage being able to do that before. Usually it was more paying attention for demons that would try to tempt him. Unless… “You’re a Dreamer?”

Solas’s eyes widened. “You know of them? Are you one?”

“Am I what?” It was with ease of long practice that Hawke kept his face blank with only a slight tinge of confusion. “A Dreamer? I’m no mage.”

Solas seemed about to say something, only to look around them. Stepping closer, he dropped his voice. “Aren’t you? The Fade presses closely about you, Trevelyan – closer than it would to anyone who wasn’t a mage.”

Hawke held still, breathing slowly. The ones who could actually  _see_  that… “It could be the mark.”

“Perhaps. But I know the strength of my spells.” Solas gave him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. “And my own magic.”

Clenching his jaw, Hawke shifted his feet, kicking up some snow. “If you tell anyone…”

“Tell?” Solas sounded surprised rather than threatened. “Forgive me. I did not intend to frighten you. I simply wanted to confirm my suspicions. We both know there are no friends to mages here; Cassandra would have had me clapped in irons if I had not proven my worth. Had I been able to hide my talents as aptly as you, I may have done so.” His smile was wry.

Hawke hadn’t ever intended on hiding as a rogue, but it had just been easier than constantly fearing discovery by resorting to magic when threatened. People carried daggers, but not typically staffs. From there the next step had been to learn how to use the weapons.

“They won’t hurt you,” Hawke said finally, inclining his head. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Solas actually looked surprised this time. “Thank you, but you needn’t worry.” He gave Hawke a small smile. “I can take care of myself.” Relaxing slightly, Solas raised his voice a little. “In any case, you still haven’t told me how you know of Dreamers.”

“I met one on my travels,” Hawke said. “After, I thought it might be best if I learn more about them.”

“A wise decision,” Solas noted. “Yet you do not seem to fear what we are capable of.”

“Fear doesn’t really do anything, does it?” Hawke’s eyes flicked down the stairs to where the tavern was. “It just makes things worse. I’ve had enough of that now.” He stepped back, jerking his head sideways. “I’ll take my leave. Thanks for your time.”

“Of course. I will be staying for now.” Solas looked up to the Breach. “At least until the Breach has been closed.”

Hawke couldn’t resist asking, “Not very easy dreaming with it open, is it?”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Solas’s mouth. “No, not really.”

Grabbing the opportunity to leave, Hawke quickly headed to the tavern, double-checked that Varric was indeed nowhere in it or around, and then continued to wander through the rest of Haven in search of him.

He didn’t find Varric, but he did find some trebuchets and a somewhat shady merchant who seemed more concerned with turning a profit than actually helping. Hawke briefly considered the possibility of selling him the Bone Pit, only to realize that Trevelyan didn’t actually  _own_  the Bone Pit. That was Hawke.

Besides, any shrewd merchant worth their salt wouldn’t actually want the Bone Pit.

Even if fighting that high dragon had been a thrill, it wasn’t a thrill for everyone. Anders had been particularly shaky after that fight, and Varric had told Hawke to leave him off all missions to the Bone Pit in the future. Fenris hadn’t said anything, but his scowl had been all the warning Hawke needed to know that Fenris and dragons didn’t mix.

Ignoring the whispers and murmurs of the people milling about, Hawke headed to his cabin. If he couldn’t find Varric now, he would try and warm up before heading out again.

But the first thing he saw in his cabin was Varric sitting on a chair and reading some notes.

“I was looking for you,” Hawke said, letting the door fall shut behind him.

“You found me.” Varric looked up from the papers, his calm face twisting. “Andraste’s  _ass_ , Hawke! What are you  _doing_  here? I told you not to come after me!”

“I didn’t.” Hawke went to sit on the bed. “I came for the Conclave.”

“You – what?” Varric blinked, looking taken aback. “I would’ve thought you and Blondie wouldn’t go for that.”

“We needed to know what was going on. Whatever agreement the Conclave reached would have affected us regardless of where we were.”

“What if they recognized you?”

“You didn’t,” Hawke said dryly. “Admit it.”

“You think I don’t know how you fight by now?” Varric shot Hawke a deeply offended look, pressing a hand to his chest. “Ten years we’ve known each other, and you think I’d be fooled by you shaving your beard?”

“You think I don’t recognize your ‘I recognize you from somewhere but I’m not really sure so I’m winging it’ look?”

“Okay, fine.” Varric threw his hands up. “Your clean-shaven face threw me. I’d never seen you without it.”

“That’s not true,” Hawke protested. “You’ve seen me without it before.”

“I must have erased it from memory,” Varric said loftily.

“ _Hey_.”

“What?” Varric’s face was carefully blank. “At least it’ll grow back quickly, but I guess you won’t be keeping it if you’re trying to keep a low profile.”

Hawke made a face, reaching up to rub a thumb over the stubble that was now present. “Unfortunately.”

“That’s the price of subterfuge, my friend.” Varric shot a glance at the daggers Hawke carried. “The Herald of Andraste, huh?”

Groaning, Hawke slumped and pressed his hands to his eyes. “Not you too.”

“Sounds catchy,” Varric continued. “A lot loftier than Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Neither of them titles that I  _asked_  for.” Hawke paused, then looked up at Varric. “I’m no one’s Herald.”

“They think so.” Varric looked out the window, only to pull a face when he saw no one was visible to make his point. “Are you going to leave?”

“No.” Hawke pulled the mark to life, watching Varric start at the sudden light show. “But not just because of this.” He let the magic go, curling his fingers inwards as the light disappeared. “Did you recognize the voice in the temple?”

Varric didn’t answer immediately. When he did, the words came slowly. “No…but I’m guessing you did?”

“It was Corypheus.”

Whatever Varric had expected, it clearly wasn’t that. “Hawke, he’s  _dead_.”

Hawke hoped he really was, but he couldn’t be sure. There were too many doubts. “Clearly he isn’t.”

“You don’t even  _remember_. Whatever we heard in that temple might not even be the real thing!”

“That’s what the Fade  _is_ , Varric. Echoes and memories.” Hawke closed his eyes against the image of that darkspawn magister emerging from his ancient prison. “And I know that voice. I’ve heard it in my dreams and replayed what happened in that prison often enough to recognize it when I hear it.”

“Do you even know what you’re suggesting, Hawke? We  _killed_  him. He was  _dead_.” Varric punctuated the word with slamming his hand down on the desk next to him. “Now you’re telling me we somehow failed to notice that he was alive all along?”

“I know.” Hawke was glad when his voice came out evenly, his throat thick. “I don’t have an explanation for what could have happened, but he isn’t human. He isn’t even a darkspawn – not really. What do we know of what he can do?”

“Not coming back to life would be a start,” Varric said, voice rather high-pitched.

“I know.” Hawke managed a strained smile. “I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.”

“Fuck.” Varric looked down at his hands. “What do you want to do about this?”

“Trevelyan wouldn’t know who Corypheus is, but you would.”

“You want me to tell them?” Varric stared at him for a long moment, Hawke staring back steadily. Varric broke first, sighing and rubbing his face. “Okay.” He took a breath. “Okay. Well…Seeker already knows about that particular story. I’ll swing something.” He smiled weakly. “I’ve got your back, Hawke.”

“Thank you.” Hawke couldn’t keep the relief out of his tone. “I can’t… They shouldn’t know who I am. Not yet.”

Varric snorted. “Like hell you should. They wouldn’t let you go if they did know.”

“I’m irresistible.” Hawke’s smile faded a second later, his heart giving a twinge. He forced himself to take a breath, swallowing. “Would…you mind sending a letter to Anders?”

“Mind?” Varric gave him a  _look_. “Hawke, you were out of it for the last several days. What do you think I was doing during that time? Sitting on my hands? I sent one the first day I could. I don’t want an angry abomination knocking down Haven’s doors because I didn’t tell him his boyfriend’s alive.”

Hawke held back the grimace at hearing Varric call Anders an abomination, instead saying, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Varric looked distinctly uncomfortable, clearing his throat. “I’m…glad you’re not dead, Hawke.”

“You’ve no idea how glad I’m not dead either.” Hawke exhaled, pressing his hands together. “Let’s hope I keep that up.”

“And let’s hope it’s not actually Corypheus.” Varric shook his head. “Maker’s breath…if Cassandra tries to kill me, I’m blaming you.”

“If Cassandra tries to kill you, she’ll have to answer to me.”

“That’s…y’know, that tone just doesn’t work without the beard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last time Hawke shaved was because of a bet he lost. Everyone was very perturbed that he looked so much like Carver and asked that he please grow it back as quickly as possible. There were lots of confused people in Kirkwall that time.
> 
> Show of hands...who expected that Solas would find out first? (Not the Hawke thing. The mage thing.)
> 
> Feedback is definitely loved! Thank you so much for all the kind comments last chapter! :D I hope you continue to enjoy this journey!
> 
> (I will be updating in about a week because this and the next chapters aren't that long, and I've gotten quite a few scenes written out now. And chapters.)


	3. Haven II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to move! Not very fast, but they are moving! We've got some small conversations in this chapter and some preparations that are made.
> 
> Along with a new format, which you'll notice with italics at the beginning and end of the chapter. We know what happened in the base game of Dragon Age 2 according to what Varric told Cassandra, but what _really_ happened? Especially in those years that Varric just glosses over. Admittedly, I kind of gloss over some of that time as well, but there are key scenes that I wanted to redo.
> 
> In any case, this is my way of showing you guys my Hawke and giving background info.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_It took him a day to realize that the nausea he was feeling wasn’t leftover seasickness. In fact, he should’ve realized sooner since one didn’t just suddenly develop seasickness a few weeks into a voyage._

_Carver had been horribly seasick the moment they stepped on the ship. Their mother had been slightly better, and he hadn’t been sick at all until they came closer to Kirkwall. But by then they’d been low on food and water and what they’d had to eat wasn’t exactly of the best quality._

_He’d put it off to that, but Carver was now as fit as a horse and Aveline wasn’t sick either. They didn’t seem to feel queasy and unsteady like he did._

_Carver had actually asked how he was doing, so he must not look very good._

_And with every passing hour, he realized it was Kirkwall._

_He’d been in places where the Veil was thin before, but the Veil wasn’t **just**  thin here. It was… **sick**. There was a horrible miasma about the place, the magic he could feel and taste twisted and dark in a way he hadn’t felt before._

_It could have been the Gallows. There was enough despair and horror seeped into the stones to make lesser demons falter and spirits avoid the place entirely._

_But when they actually entered Kirkwall itself and made themselves at home in Gamlen’s house in Lowtown, he was forced to admit that it wasn’t just the Gallows. It wasn’t whatever was going on in that Circle._

_It was **Kirkwall**._

_And he had to live here._

* * *

Hawke busied himself the next day by doing virtually nothing other than sneak around Haven and avoid the adoring public. Something was happening in the Chantry with Leliana, Cassandra, a dark-skinned woman, and a man who looked suspiciously like Cullen, but Hawke steered clear of it and wandered around the rest of Haven before eventually going outside.

The Breach remained an ever present reminder of what he was still needed for, but the surroundings around Haven were peaceful and quiet.

Crossing the frozen lake and venturing further into the woods gave him enough privacy to begin playing around with the mark on his hand, figuring out what it could and couldn’t do. Maybe he shouldn’t mess with it since he had no idea what it was or where it had come from, but it was the only thing he  _could_  control, and he was a little tired of feeling so out of control.

If Hawke had something to focus on, then he wouldn’t go completely crazy.

It would take more time than the day he’d had, but so far Hawke had figured out a way of activating and deactivating the mark at will that didn’t require so much concentration. He’d also figured out a way of poking through to the Fade, but he didn’t try actually  _opening_  something.

Given the Breach in the sky, that was probably not the smartest idea.

Hawke didn’t head back to Haven until the sun had set, and by then he was sweating, cold, and tired. Even so, he still didn’t think he could sleep. Not with the bed as empty as it was.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Hawke told himself it was for the best. Anders wouldn’t be safe here (but was he safe anywhere?). He couldn’t necessarily  _keep_  Anders safe, although he could damn well try.

Justice was always there, but that was no surety of Anders’s safety either, not with templars and seekers around. And with  _Corypheus_ …

Curling his fingers into the blankets on his bed, Hawke bowed his head, telling himself it was  _fine_.

Anders would be fine.

Even if it didn’t feel like it.

And Hawke continued telling himself that as morning broke and someone decked out in light green clothes and a hood told him that he was wanted in the Chantry. They seemed suspiciously shady enough that he figured they were one of Leliana’s spies.

Cassandra was waiting for him outside the Chantry, nodding at him as he approached. “It is good to see you.”

“Really?” Hawke couldn’t keep the surprise out of his tone. “I would’ve thought you’d prefer if I crawl into a hole and die.”

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra sounded vaguely appalled.

“Because you need the shiny thing in my hand?” Hawke waved said hand at her.

Cassandra eyed it like it would bite her. Which it wouldn’t unless Hawke wanted it to. “That isn’t the only reason you should remain with us.”

“Sweet talker.”

Cassandra seemed vaguely flustered now, ushering Hawke into the Chantry before saying anything else. “You seem in high spirits.”

“No, not really.” Hawke had seen Varric eye him worriedly on the way to the Chantry, undoubtedly recognizing that particular brand of “I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours and am hyped on sleep-deprivation.”

“Does it still trouble you?” Cassandra asked, nodding towards the mark.

Hawke shrugged, keeping the offending hand close to his side. “It’s stopped glowing like my own personal nightlight and it’s not killing me anymore, so I’ll take it.”

“Hold onto that sense of humor,” Cassandra said entirely seriously.

Hawke hadn’t lost it in Kirkwall and in the following years, and he certainly wouldn’t lose it now. “Where would we be without some laughter?”

Cassandra seemed dubious about this, brow furrowing briefly before she said, “Your mark is stable now, as is the Breach. You have given us valuable time, and Solas believes that we may succeed with a second attempt – provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

Hawke’s lips thinned. “You’ve something in mind already, haven’t you?”

“Perhaps.” Cassandra paused before the door, giving Hawke a serious look. “You are already aware the Breach is not the only threat we must deal with. Varric believes he may have an idea as to the identity of the person responsible.”

Hawke raised his eyebrows, bidding Cassandra to continue.

Cassandra didn’t, looking troubled. “It would be better if we discussed this together.”

Opening the door, Cassandra let Hawke in the room first, closing the door right after she entered.

Leliana, the unfamiliar dark-skinned woman, and the man who was  _definitely_  Cullen were standing around the large table that now had a map of Ferelden and Orlais on it. The three looked up at them, the woman giving Hawke a welcoming smile as she looked up from her handheld board.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra said, coming up to Leliana’s side.

“Such as they are,” Cullen said. “We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

Cassandra gestured to the unfamiliar woman. “This is lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

Josephine inclined her head in greeting. “I’ve heard much. A pleasure to meet you at last.”

“And of course you know Sister Leliana.”

Leliana started, “My position here involves a degree of…”

Cassandra interrupted her, “She is our spymaster.”

Leliana seemed more amused than upset about the interruption. “Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

Hawke deliberately didn’t look at Cullen, unsure of what they would see on his face if he did. He was still so – so… _angry_  when he considered what Cullen hadn’t done in the Gallows. He’d helped, but his help had come far too late to do anyone any good.

And he wasn’t here as  _Hawke_. He was here as Trevelyan, a man who would have little knowledge of Cullen.

Keeping his eyes on Cassandra, Hawke made sure his voice was as even as possible as he said, “You know who I am. Cassandra says you have some idea for whom was responsible for the explosion?”

“Varric recognized the voice in the temple,” Cassandra said, looking decidedly unsettled. “He claims it was Corypheus.”

Hawke hoped his mask of confusion was genuine. “Who?”

“He claims to be a magister from Tevinter,” Cassandra said, “one who trespassed in the Golden City and unleashed the First Blight.”

“Which is preposterous,” Cullen insisted.

“Yet it is a possibility we must take into consideration,” Josephine said.

“I have heard this tale of his before, Commander,” Cassandra said flatly. “Varric and the Champion encountered Corypheus in the Vimmark Mountains, freeing him from an ancient Grey Warden prison.”

“Where they killed him,” Leliana said.

“So he  _isn’t_  responsible,” Cullen pointed out.

“Except he is,” Cassandra disagreed.

“Or perhaps he isn’t.” Leliana raised her eyebrows in response to Cassandra’s sharp look. “We saw shadows and heard echoes, Cassandra. There was nothing concrete except for what Varric claims he recognizes.”

“And if it is true?” Cassandra glanced between her and Cullen. “We cannot afford to remain idle, Leliana. Perhaps it is false and Varric is wrong, but can we take that chance?” She turned towards Hawke. “What do  _you_  think?”

The sudden question had Hawke taken aback, although all he really did was blink in surprise. Rallying quickly, he said, “I think anything that has to do with a magister from Tevinter needs to be taken seriously. Even if Varric’s mistaken.”

Leliana and Cullen looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them before they turned to Cassandra and Hawke.

“I’ll have my sources look into it,” Leliana promised. “You’re right; we can’t afford to discard the possibility.”

“I will see what I can find out as well,” Josephine said, tapping her quill against her writing board. “Someone must have heard something. An ancient magister cannot be easily ignored.”

“No matter how unbelievable it seems,” Cullen muttered, shaking his head.

“There’s a hole in the sky that leads directly to the Fade,” Hawke said shortly. “What part of that wasn’t impossible before it happened?”

“We’ll see what we can find,” Leliana said, tilting her head slightly back to look Hawke in the eyes. “In the meantime, we do have the Breach to worry about.”

Hawke glanced askance at Cassandra. “You said you have a plan?”

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra said.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana said.

“And I still disagree,” Cullen said flatly. “The templars could serve just as well.”

“No,” Hawke said immediately, unthinkingly. “We’re not using the templars.”

“You think the rebel mages would be a better option?” Cullen asked sharply.

Hawke met Cullen’s eyes, teeth gritted as he ground out, “I know I’m not working with the  _templars_.”

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet,” Josephine cut in, voice calm. “The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically.”

Hawke turned to her, managing to bite down the sharp anger to make his voice cordial. “And that’s a problem?”

“It is,” Josephine said. “Some are calling you the ‘Herald of Andraste,’ and that frightens the Chantry. The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Leliana said.

“And I suppose it doesn’t matter that I’m  _not_  the Herald?” Hawke didn’t expect an answer, continuing to say, “It doesn’t matter what they think. Waiting to work with the Chantry would only slow us down.”

“For once I agree,” Cassandra said. “They are scattered, waiting to elect a new Divine. That will take time we don’t have.”

“And yet we must work with them.” Josephine flicked her quill pointedly. “We do not have the influence to contact the mages  _or_  the templars.” She shot Hawke a quick look as if to check his reaction. When he didn’t say anything, she added, “However, there is a chance we can communicate with them.”

“A Chantry cleric by the name Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you,” Leliana said, glancing at Josephine. “She is not far and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

Hawke folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. “I doubt it.”

“Would it cause any harm in seeing what she has to say?” Cassandra asked slowly.

Biting back the choice words he wanted to utter, Hawke instead opted to say as neutrally as he could, “Knowing the Chantry? Yes.”

“You mistrust the Chantry.” Cullen sounded surprised.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Hawke said sharply. “The Chantry’s failed us more than once. You think they’ll be willing to listen to me – a declared heretic? It’s far more likely that this Mother Giselle is a trap.”

“Or she simply wants to help,” Leliana said evenly. “I understand she is a reasonable sort. From what I know of her, she is a kind soul and not the sort to involve herself in violence. She is currently tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe. There have been reports of fighting between the rebel mages and templars, along with sightings of rifts.”

“And if it is a trap, you will not be alone,” Cassandra said, coming to stand by Hawke. “I will be with you.”

There was no hint of a lie in her features, simply a steady assurance and confidence that things would be fine. And that if they weren’t, she would be there to help him. It was a steadiness that Hawke hadn’t seen since Aveline.

“That…is reassuring.” Hawke inclined his head, holding Cassandra’s gaze. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Cassandra nodded once. “Does that mean you will go?”

Hawke glanced at the others, seeing the hope in their expressions that they couldn’t quite hide.

It was…

He didn’t  _want_  to talk to this Mother Giselle. There was every likelihood that this was a trap, or that nothing would come of it. The Chantry had always been useless, and it was even more inept now with the loss of the Divine.

But…

It wasn’t just about him, was it? It never was.

And people in the Hinterlands needed help. Help that he could provide. Didn’t that mean he should do it?

Hawke had never been one to  _not_  give help if he could help it. And he could here.

“Yes,” Hawke said finally. “I’ll go.”

Even if it wasn’t for the reason they thought it was.

* * *

“Herald, a word if you would?” Josephine waited by the door to the right of the meeting room.

Hawke paused by her, letting the others go ahead. “Please don’t call me that.”

Josephine tilted her head inquiringly. “What would you prefer, then?”

“Anything but that.”

“Very well, my lord.” Josephine politely didn’t comment on Hawke’s reflexive grimace. “There is a small matter I wanted to bring to your attention.”

Hawke wondered why she couldn’t just get to the point. “What is it?”

Stepping into a dark office, Josephine led Hawke to a desk, setting her writing board down on the surface and reaching for an envelope. “I’ve received a letter from your family.” She handed it to Hawke, smiling brightly. “You are of House Trevelyan, are you not?”

“Er…yes.” Hawke peeled open the envelope, skimming the first few lines and realizing with a sinking feeling that the Trevelyans were under the impression that their son was alive and well and therefore extending offers of help for anything he needed.

“If you like, I can communicate with them on your behalf,” Josephine offered. “Alternatively, I can make sure that anything you send will arrive safely.”

“Right, thanks.” Hawke stuffed the letter back in the envelope and then shoved it into his pocket. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Or never.

Giving Josephine a quick nod, Hawke backed out of the office and headed to the exit, breathing in a shock of cold air as the wind hit him. He blinked the stinging tears out of his eyes before realizing that an unfamiliar man was eyeing him speculatively, his bushy mustache perhaps more intimidating than it should have been.

“That’s the blacksmith, Harritt,” an unfamiliar Chantry sister told him when Hawke didn’t move. “He’s been asking for you, Herald.”

It was a shame he wasn’t an  _actual_  rogue. He could’ve used some of their more discreet skills at this point.

* * *

Preparations had to be made, including a brand new armor provided by Harritt that was somehow mostly finished except for some last-minute touches. Hawke didn’t really want to ask just how Harritt already had all his measurements so he just took it and also the shiny new daggers that Harritt handed him. He gave the old ones to Harritt, who seemed all too gleeful at the prospect of melting them down.

The new armor was a great deal more comfortable, being more suited to a rogue than the generic one he’d been wearing. It was light and easy to move in while also giving him the armor he needed to defend himself.

There weren’t as many pockets, but Hawke could always make more and had grabbed the requisite materials from the blacksmith’s hut before he could notice. He felt only slightly guilty for the theft, but he’d done worse and he was relatively sure that Harritt wouldn’t notice the absence given all the other junk he had.

Cassandra wasn’t far from the blacksmith, attacking a straw dummy with a sword. Or, rather, demolishing a straw dummy since it wasn’t putting up much of a fight.

Hawke really shouldn’t speak to her, but… She wasn’t entirely abrasive. She’d had justifiable cause for mistrusting him at the beginning, and he hadn’t exactly been nice either.

Now that his innocence had largely been established, it wouldn’t be the worst decision to just talk to her, would it? Especially if they would be traveling together.

Fenris hadn’t been friendly in the beginning either. He’d been even  _more_  abrasive after finding out that Hawke was a mage, since his lyrium tattoos reacted strongly to magic being used around them. That Hawke hadn’t even instantly appeared to be a mage had probably been a sticking point, although it was one they’d managed to get past once Hawke had made an effort at befriending him.

Hawke wasn’t the same person he’d been back then, but he could do it again, couldn’t he? And even if he didn’t make friends here, he could still be on friendly acquaintances with Cassandra.

It was best to be on good terms with the warrior who would be having his back on their travels.

“Those dummies seem a little weak,” Hawke said, several feet off to the side and carefully out of the way of Cassandra’s blade. “Or maybe you’re just really angry.”

Cassandra made a noise that sounded like a “hmph,” swinging at the poor practice dummy one last time and cutting it into halves. “It could be both.”

Hawke eyed the dummy’s remnants. “Is it?”

“I cannot help but think that I am making a mistake,” Cassandra said after a moment, kicking a piece of the dummy aside. “Did I do the right thing? What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I revered my whole life. One day, they might write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right.”

“Change isn’t accepted when it’s needed,” Hawke said slowly, keeping his tone carefully modulated. “And you  _want_  to change things, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Cassandra sighed, grasping the sword in her other hand. “No. I don’t know. But something  _must_  change. I only hope we are doing the right thing.”

“I expect we’ll find out in a few years if it is,” Hawke said. “Failing that, you can always go back up to the Chantry and tear down that Inquisition banner and say it was a joke.”

Cassandra snorted, a smirk flickering over her face. “It is merely my nerves, nothing more. I believe…I  _believe_  it is the right thing to do. I believe we are doing what we must to help now. And yet…I still have doubts.”

Hawke tilted his head, that queasy feeling of not knowing what he was doing all too familiar. “Don’t we all?” he murmured.

“No one cares to do anything about it,” Cassandra continued, sheathing her sword. “They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot.” She paused, looking up at the Breach. “But is it the Maker’s will?”

Hawke didn’t say anything, following Cassandra’s gaze to that massive swirling hole that shouldn’t be there.

“My trainers always said, ‘Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.’” Cassandra smiled ruefully, turning to meet Hawke’s eyes. “I see what must be done and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

Smiling at Cassandra was easier than he’d expected it to be, as was saying casually, “Let’s be fair: you had reason to suspect me. If you  _hadn’t_ , I would’ve doubted your capabilities as a Seeker.”

Cassandra blinked, a slight expression of surprise crossing her face. “I must admit…I had not expected you to say that. You seemed most displeased with being considered a suspect.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be?” Hawke folded his arms, only to pause as the armor’s leather shifted unusually. He went to stretch it out, grimacing and adding, “I wasn’t at my best, then.”

“Yet somehow I suspect your best isn’t much different.”

“Spoken by someone who’s known me for two days. Or maybe a week if you count the time I was out like a light.”

Stilling, Cassandra’s brow furrowed for a moment. She turned to face Hawke, jaw set. “You’re right. I don’t know much about you.”

Hawke stopped pulling at the leather long enough to note that some mulish expressions didn’t change much at all. “What?” He couldn’t help but sound wary.

“I would like to change that,” Cassandra continued, only to hesitate a second later. “But only if you are willing to share.”

Well, it couldn’t hurt, could it? If she asked anything too personal, Hawke could just lie. It wasn’t like she’d know it wasn’t true.

Shrugging, Hawke stopped picking at the armor and folded his arms over his chest. “Ask.”

“I…” Cassandra frowned. “Where are you from?”

That question was easy enough considering the little Hawke knew of Trevelyan’s family. “Ostwick.”

“The Trevelyans, is it not? A large clan with a rather clever coat-of-arms.” Cassandra didn’t seem to expect an answer to this. “Did you grow up in the Free Marches? Your accent is rather Fereldan.”

“Is it?” Hawke managed to insert an appropriate amount of amusement in his tone. “I suppose that’s what comes of traveling constantly and never spending much time in one place. I can do a passable Rivaini accent if you’d like. Even Tevinter.”

“Really?” Cassandra seemed doubtful of this claim.

Recalling Isabela’s manner of speaking, Hawke softened his voice. “You doubt that?” He sharpened his next words as he imitated Fenris: “It’s easy enough if you have practice.”

“You and Varric should not be in the same room together,” Cassandra said after a moment. “It would not survive the experience.”

“Now you’ve made me curious.” Hawke grinned briefly at Cassandra before continuing. “I did live in the Free Marches. I have family there”—true enough considering Gamlen—”but no one I’m close to.” He resisted the urge to touch the crumpled envelope in his pocket.

“Would you consider going back?” Cassandra asked.

“No.” Hawke closed his eyes, the memory of Anders’s warmth and his voice comforting. “I’ve since made my home elsewhere.”

Cassandra didn’t speak for a moment, inclining her head. Then, “Will you return?”

Hawke forced himself to take a breath as his heart gave a painful pang, the weariness in his muscles a sharp reminder of his current inability to sleep. “When this is over…yes.”

“It may not be over for a long time,” Cassandra warned him, tone soft.

“Or maybe it will be.” Hawke managed to smile at her, although the sight seemed to make Cassandra do a double take. “That’s one thing we’ll have to find out. Who knows – maybe you’ll go and declare the Inquisition a joke after all.”

“If I do,” Cassandra said, “then please hit me over the head, as I will undoubtedly have lost my mind. If you don’t, then Leliana may very well kill me.”

Hawke could very well picture Sister Nightingale doing so. “Seems a bit of an overreaction.”

“After everything we have done so far, it wouldn’t be.” Cassandra didn’t smile at him, but her eyes seemed slightly warmer. “Thank you for humoring me.”

“Naturally.” Hawke shot the demolished dummy a look. “Would you be willing to return the favor?”

Blinking, Cassandra’s answer came slowly. “You…would like to know more about me?”

“If we’re going to be working together, it seems only appropriate. I’d like to know more about whom I’ll be working with.”

“Very well.” Cassandra gave Hawke a long look. “You can ask me what you wish.”

“Fantastic. It can be our topic of the day when we’re traveling to the Hinterlands.” Hawke nodded towards the remaining dummy. “I’ll let you kill some more dummies.”

Having had the last word, Hawke walked off before Cassandra could say anything else.

Only to run directly into Cullen, who had apparently been hiding behind a tent since Hawke hadn’t seen him from Harritt’s forge.

Hawke spent two seconds looking for an escape route that wouldn’t seem like he was fleeing from Cullen before realizing that Cullen was squinting at him.

“Is there something on my face?” Hawke asked, resisting the urge to wipe his sleeve over it.

“No, no, it’s only…” Cullen squinted further. “Have we met before? You seem…familiar.”

Shit, shit,  _shit_.

Okay, think of a lie, he could do that—

“I have one of those faces,” was all Hawke could think of saying.

Cullen squinted at him a few seconds longer before shaking his head. “Right, sorry. I must be seeing things.”

“People mistake me for someone they know all the time,” Hawke continued, managing to paste a smile on his face. When was the last time he’d shaved? Probably too long ago; he hadn’t done it this morning or the day before, and before that he’d been unconscious for several days. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Still…” Cullen’s lips twisted, something dark passing behind his eyes before he blinked and it was gone. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to take up your time. I’m sure you have preparations to make.”

“I do.” Hawke walked off as quickly as possible without making it seem like he was running.

It was a talent born of living as an apostate for years, one that no one but Bethany had ever been able to replicate.

Everyone else just looked too shifty.

* * *

The preparations Hawke had to make involved getting shaving supplies from Varric, who smirked  _far_  too much when Hawke asked him for them. But he did give them to Hawke, which was all that mattered.

Varric also helped Hawke get his hands on more explosives and smoke bombs, which were a necessary part of Hawke’s cover as a rogue. It would be so much easier if Hawke were _actually_  a rogue, but he had to get by with props. And, well, he wouldn’t give up his magic if he were being entirely honest.

However much grief being a mage had caused him, it had also given him no end of joy and wonders. Hiding it was a small price to pay for safety and a surprise that no one would expect.

Grenades were also useful, although it seemed no one actually had any  _fun_  recipes until Hawke managed to recall the ones he’d used in Kirkwall. The alchemist added some more spice to Hawke’s usual combustion grenade, calling it Antivan fire and smirking when he gave Hawke the finished product.

Hawke made a mental note to not be anywhere near the grenade when he threw it. Not that he was near his grenades when he actually used them. It was usually Aveline or Fenris who sometimes came too close to being incinerated, but he’d gotten better with that (or maybe they’d caught on to his bad habits).

Cassandra wouldn’t be used to it, so he’d better be more careful since Anders wasn’t here to heal any accidental burns. Hawke was a pitiful healer, even if he’d managed to learn some basic healing spells from Anders. He was better with his own body than others’, which had Anders frowning since basic healing wasn’t  _that_  difficult. Except that for Hawke it was.

At least if he was injured he could pull something together until he got to a healer or had the right herbs. If Cassandra or Varric were injured? He hoped Solas had some healing magic up his sleeve or they’d be out of luck.

As it was, they knew where they’d find Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands, although it would take about two days to get there since there was a distinct lack of horses and that was one of the things Cullen had asked them to look for while there.

While Hawke was still incredibly leery about talking to Mother Giselle, he was definitely more willing to find horses. Horses were far more useful than Chantry clerics.

And then there was the matter of the Grey Wardens, which Leliana had told him about a few hours before they left. They were missing, and Leliana didn’t think it was a coincidence given Corypheus’s possible involvement.

Knowing the influence Corypheus had on Grey Wardens, Hawke was inclined to agree with her. What Corypheus had done to Anders still haunted his nightmares, and it was exactly the reason why Hawke wanted Anders to  _stay away_. Even if he didn’t claim to be a Grey Warden anymore, he still had the taint.

Hawke just hoped Anders was still where he’d left him and not missing. There was no way of telling if he  _had_  gone missing unless Hawke sought him out, and he couldn’t do that now no matter how much he wanted to.

Maybe this Warden Blackwall would have answers, but it was just as likely that he didn’t. Grey Wardens were notoriously secretive, and Hawke’s luck was never that good.

Well, things couldn’t go that badly in the Hinterlands, could they?

* * *

_They had two options and neither was good considering they would essentially be working without pay for a year. But if they didn’t do this, then there wasn’t the slightest chance that they would get into Kirkwall._

_He didn’t like it, but what other options did they have?_

_He’d considered the mercenary group, but he didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of just killing people for money. Granted, some undoubtedly deserved it, but there was no way of finding that out._

_And although he wasn’t actually a rogue, he could manage some of the finer points of sneaking around aptly enough._

_“You must be Gamlen’s nephew.” Athenril eyed him piercingly, looking up at him unflinchingly. “Interesting. I don’t know how much he told you about us, but he certainly told us a great deal about you.”_

_He ducked his chin to look Athenril in the eye, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise. Telling himself to **breathe** , he said, “Hopefully good things.”_

_“ **What**  things?” Carver asked suspiciously a second later when he didn’t continue._

_“Enough to pique our interest.” Athenril’s face was blank. “It won’t be the first time we’ve had to hide a mage from the templars.”_

_He didn’t even know Gamlen and already he was cursing his uncle’s name to the Black City and back. “I’m no mage,” he said flatly, staring her down._

_“It’s all right if you are.”_

_“My uncle was mistaken,” he said, shifting to fold his arms over his chest. That it put his daggers in clearer view of Athenril’s eyesight was entirely intentional. “It happens when you don’t speak with your sister in two decades.”_

_“Oh?” Something hardened in Athenril’s eyes. “What else was he mistaken about?”_

_“My sister was the mage,” he said, managing to keep his tone even._

_“‘Was’?”_

_“She didn’t make it.” He deliberately didn’t look back at Carver, not wanting to see what expression his brother would be wearing. “But my uncle wasn’t mistaken about what we can bring to the table. I might not be a mage, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a good fighter. And Carver is a considerable swordsman.”_

_“I have my own skills,” Aveline said, her jaw tight._

_Athenril didn’t seem convinced. “Is that so?”_

_He wondered just what Gamlen had **told**  them. It wasn’t like he could know what he was capable of. Bethany and his father had been the only ones to know exactly what he could do. “What do you need us to do?”_

_Although clearly still reluctant given that she thought he wasn’t the mage she had expected him to be, Athenril did tell them what they needed to do._

_As he was the only one with any lock picking skills to speak of, it fell to him to pick the lock of the chest the book was in. Carver and Aveline distracted the merchant and his guards. In the end he had to subtly freeze the lock and then smash it open, closing his eyes against the rush of dizziness at how the magic felt. Thankfully no one noticed, and he pocketed the goods without anyone being the wiser._

_Given what the upcoming year looked like in Athenril’s service, it would be a good idea to brush up on what skills he had when it came to being a rogue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These flashbacks are mostly going to be in chronological order for now. When they're _not_ , I'll try to make some indication for where in the timeline they slot in. Especially in later chapters, flashbacks are going to be happening out of order, although it should still be easy to see where they fit.
> 
> Hawke has the BEST excuses for things. ...Most of the time. He usually just gets by on luck.
> 
> I'd love feedback! :D


	4. Hinterlands I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy, guess who shows up in this chapter? And in a bigger role than just making sure Hawke's not dead? 8D
> 
> We're also in the Hinterlands. When will we leave?  
> Not for a few chapters unfortunately! Since things are _changing_.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

_Even if he hadn’t already known that a Keeper’s First was usually a mage, it was impossible to miss that this elf was one. There was the staff that every mage carried, and then there was the fact that he suspected she was a blood mage._

_This mage seemed far too **physical**  to be anything but one. He’d met a few blood mages in Ferelden, and they’d all felt somewhat the same to him._

_Bethany had never quite sensed things the way he could, but she’d said that blood mages felt **odd**._

_And this elf felt odd in that way. Although the Fade lingered about her person, it wasn’t as close as it usually was for mages. There was also the sense that she was **rooted**  to the world, reveling in her physicality and the waking world._

_But he could be wrong. His senses could be deceiving him. This was Sundermount, and the Veil was incredibly thin here, the Fade pressing closely about his person. He could see shadows out of the corner of his eye, but they disappeared when he tried to see them more closely. Whispers echoed in his ears, but there was nothing coherent to be understood._

_So it was entirely possible that he was wrong about the elf. She was a mage, and she did use her mana when fighting reanimated corpses, using her staff as a focus._

_Yet when Merrill brought down the barrier with a quick bloody slash over her hand, he tasted the presence of a demon, his mouth going dry with the sensation. He was the only one who wasn’t surprised at Merrill being a blood mage, even if he was disappointed about his suspicions being right._

_Sometimes having sharper senses than usual was a good thing._

* * *

The trip to the Hinterlands went smoothly enough, all things considered. There were some rifts on the way that were easily dealt with, and the rest of the time was taken up by avoiding renegade templars, some mages that fled upon seeing them, and some particularly angry bears that didn’t seem to understand they were in over their heads.

That Cassandra had said more bears were in the Hinterlands didn’t help Hawke feel better.

“And these bears will attack us, too, won’t they?” Hawke had griped.

“Perhaps not,” had been Cassandra’s diplomatic answer.

Varric had just snorted and even Solas had seemed dubious, wiping off the remnants of the bear’s blood that had been on his staff.

Aside from that, there really wasn’t much to do, so Hawke struck up a conversation with his companions. Getting to know them was the first step to having people he knew could have his back, even if they were part of the Chantry.

Although the fact that Cassandra seemed to disapprove slightly of the Chantry was something Hawke wouldn’t have expected.

“Yet I became the Right Hand, and they are forgotten,” Cassandra said after telling him a story involving dragons and blood mages.

“And that surprises you?” Hawke asked.

“It did at the time.” Cassandra looked sour at the admission. “But I have seen that the Chantry willingly overlooks inconveniences when it suits them. That must change.”

“I wouldn’t have expected the Right Hand of the Divine to admit that.”

“No? I would think it make my place to notice such a failing and say it must be changed.” Cassandra’s jaw set mulishly.

Hawke tilted his head to the side, saying blandly, “I know some would disagree.”

Cassandra didn’t answer for a long while, and Hawke was actually feeling slightly disappointed until she said quietly, “That is largely why I was in favor of the Inquisition. Change needs to happen, and it will not unless someone  _makes_  it happen. I only pray that it is the Maker’s will.”

It was similar to what Cassandra had said back in Haven, and Hawke still didn’t have any answers for her. It wasn’t like he ever would, since Hawke wasn’t too inclined to believe in the Maker given all that the Chantry had done in His name.

After Cassandra went off to stew in her thoughts, Hawke was really only left with Solas and Varric. He wasn’t particularly interested in striking up a conversation with the Inquisition’s soldiers since they still eyed him like he was going to start spouting prophecies and/or possibly start blowing shit up. To be fair, he was prone to blowing shit up, but  _still_.

Solas didn’t actually have much to say, although he did quite happily share some of his adventures in the Fade when Hawke started asking questions about how he did it. It was nothing that would incriminate him, and Hawke noticed that he danced around several delicate topics while shooting Cassandra glances.

Varric just talked loudly on all topics, even those that had absolutely no relation to what the group had been discussing. At one point Cassandra and Solas had been talking politely about various applications of magic and Varric had commented on the beautiful flora around them and  _oh_ , wasn’t that a steaming pile of dung over there?

Hawke had been too busy trying to cover up his laughter to rescue Varric from Cassandra’s scathing glare.

And yet, despite all odds, they made it to the Hinterlands in one piece and without anyone threatening to disembowel another (which had been an honest threat by some of his other companions in Kirkwall until they all got to know each other better; Hawke didn’t miss those days). They made camp relatively close to the Crossroads, which was where Scout Harding had pinpointed Mother Giselle’s location.

“Has anyone tried talking to them?” Hawke asked her after she made her report and her assessment on the fighting between the mages and templars.

Scout Harding gave him a long look. “We shoot arrows at them?”

That sounded remarkably like something Isabela would say, and for a moment Hawke wished she were here. “That isn’t  _talking_.”

“We’ll stop shooting at them when they stop attacking us,” was all Scout Harding had to say before she took her leave.

“You can’t talk to everybody,” Varric said quietly, standing right by Hawke.

“I know.” Hawke resisted the urge to rub his face, feeling older than his years. Hadn’t he learned that in Kirkwall?

“We should leave as soon as we can,” Cassandra said, looking out over a ledge at the edge of camp. “The Crossroads are not far from here.”

“You don’t say?” Hawke muttered, checking his pouch of explosives one last time before following after Cassandra. He’d been in Redcliffe once as a child, but it had been long enough that he no longer remembered the land clearly. They had traveled through the Hinterlands to leave, but that had been in the dead of the night, and the land looked entirely different in the light.

There were scorch marks from spells and arrows embedded in trees as they headed down the hill. On occasion they passed bodies, some clothed in robes and others in armor. As they drew closer, the number of bodies they passed increased, as did the number of arrows embedded in them.

Breathing in, Hawke closed his eyes against the frisson of magic that tickled against his skin. Nothing bad, but simply an awareness that magic was being used not far from here.

It took only a few more moments, but then they were at the Crossroads.

Hawke barely had enough time to take in the surroundings before he was ducking a stray arc of lightning and rolling out the way of a charging templar.

The templar promptly fell to one of Varric’s arrows, and the unfortunate mage was frozen in place by Solas.

There was no time to breathe after, more mages and templars coming down on their heads and fighting each other with absolutely no regards as to the damage they were causing.

Cassandra and Solas both tried talking, but neither side was listening.

Hawke might have given it a shot as well, but he was too busy focusing on not being cornered by several templars to talk. Templars were nasty business even if he  _wasn’t_  using magic.

Slipping through one templar’s guard, Hawke left his dagger in a very inconvenient spot in their armor and came up to stab another in the weak spot between the armor plates. Carver joining the templars had been good for more than one reason, even if he hadn’t enjoyed offering up his armor for practice.

Exhaling, Hawke pulled on his mana, flicking his fingers and freezing the templar with his dagger from the inside out. The templar gurgled, dropping like a dead weight.

Darting in to snatch his dagger, Hawke shook off the frozen blood on the blade and brought it up in time to block the downward slash of another templar’s blade.

He wasn’t able to block the shield from hitting him in the side.

His arm went numb with the impact, but he didn’t think any bones were broken. Only he couldn’t move it to check – it was hurting too badly.

Tucking the arm as close to his body as he could, Hawke jerked backwards from the templar, pulling on his mana again and freezing the templar. It was too quick, red spurting out of the templar’s helmet as their body practically exploded with an audible squelching noise that had Hawke grimacing.

Staggering back several feet, Hawke managed to pull his numb arm up and hold it over his chest. There definitely weren’t any broken bones, but he wasn’t able to feel much of anything else either aside from a tingling that promised future pain.

He’d killed two templars but there was a third beginning to turn on him, casting aside the dagger Hawke had stabbed through their armor.

Blinking, Hawke inhaled, tightened his grip around the one dagger he still had, and—

Warm healing magic suffused him, dulling the pain in his arm and bringing back feeling in an invigorating rush. His breathing lightened as his fatigue vanished, and a cut on his face Hawke hadn’t even noticed sealed shut.

The magic was so familiar that Hawke didn’t even hesitate as he dove under the templar’s onslaught and whipped around for a backstab, even though his mind was blank with disbelief as he realized it was  _Anders_.

What the hell was  _Anders_  doing here?

Touching the templar’s armor with his left hand, Hawke tugged on his mana one more time, freezing the person within more slowly than the last one. This time they keeled over in one piece except for their frozen innards.

Reaching down to pick up his second dagger, Hawke straightened to check how his companions were doing.

Cassandra had taken on two templars and was beating them down with her shield. Varric and Solas were picking off the remaining mages. None seemed to have noticed what had just happened, although Varric shot him a concerned look after the mages went down.

Waving it off, Hawke wiped off the last of the blood on his daggers and rejoined the others, discreetly looking around to see if he could locate Anders. He had to be somewhere close by, but Hawke hoped that Anders wasn’t so idiotic as to be  _right there_.

Resisting the urge to rub his formerly injured arm, Hawke stopped by the pool of water and watched as Cassandra ordered the arriving Inquisition soldiers to assess the situation and set up camp.

“You look like you got caught in a little bit of a snag over there,” Varric said, sounding slightly apologetic.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Hawke said diffidently, giving the place one last look before deciding that he would have to search for Anders more vigorously. “Did you see anything odd?”

Varric shot him a look. “No? Did you?”

“Possibly. Let me get back to you on that.” Hawke rolled his shoulder and accidentally locked eyes with Cassandra, who strode over to him.

“Mother Giselle is tending to the wounded over there,” Cassandra told him, a streak of blood on her cheek.

“All right.” Hawke glanced in the direction Cassandra had indicated. “You’ll be talking to her, then?”

Frowning, Cassandra started, “I thought you would—”

“It’s not like I need to do everything, is it?” Hawke said sharply. “I’ll see what I can do to help the people here, you see what Mother Giselle wants, and we all leave happy.” Patting Cassandra on the shoulder, Hawke walked off before she could say anything or possibly punch him.

“You are either very brave or very foolish,” Solas said when Hawke walked by him.

“Can’t I be both?” Hawke tossed him a quick grin and then jumped over a stone fence.

He wandered seemingly aimlessly, but there was a driving  _need_  pulsing in his chest. Anders was somewhere here, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug him or shake him and demand that he go somewhere  _safe_.

Right now Hawke wanted to do both and he just  _really_  needed to find him.

Slightly up the hill, Hawke caught sight of a robed figure in green. He didn’t have to see the staff the figure was holding to know it was Anders. There was only one mage he knew that gave off such a distinctive taste of the Fade.

Glancing over his shoulder to be sure that no one was following him, Hawke picked up the pace, coming up at a near run until he came to the tree Anders had hidden behind.

He’d barely opened his mouth to speak when Anders pulled him into the shadows, hands shaking and hissing, “You couldn’t have let me know you were alive sooner? I had to hear it from  _Varric_!”

Hawke brought his hands up to Anders’s shoulders, noting with some alarm that it wasn’t just Anders’s hands that were shaking. “Anders—”

“I thought you were  _dead_!” Anders breathed out harshly, blinking rapidly. “If Justice hadn’t found you in the Fade—”

“I’m not dead,” Hawke interrupted him, tone gentle. “I’m here.”

“You – you are.” Anders stilled, looking at him with wide eyes. “Maker’s breath,  _Hawke_.”

Letting out a soft  _shh_ , Hawke pulled Anders in, wrapping his arms around him and pushing off Anders’s hood so he could press a kiss to his head. Anders trembled against him, his grip desperately tight.

Relief swept through Hawke, heady and overwhelming as he ducked his head to press his lips to Anders’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of sweat, herbs, and something that was uniquely Anders. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but he was so grateful Anders was here. It meant he knew for certain that Anders was  _safe_.

Yet… “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Anders pulled back far enough to look Hawke in the eye, lips thin. “Did you honestly think I was going to stay put?”

“We agreed that it was for the best—”

“Our agreement didn’t involve the Conclave  _blowing up_  and you nearly  _dying_!” Anders snapped. “You were supposed to go there, see what they were planning, and then come back. You weren’t supposed to  _stay_! Did you expect me to be fine with that?”

“I…no.” Hawke managed a sheepish grin, not letting go of Anders yet. “But are you sure being here is a good idea?”

Anders’s answering grin was rueful and just a tinge too sharp. “Maker, no. But it isn’t as if I’m alone, is it? And not everyone knows my face. So long as I don’t go screaming ‘I’m possessed!’ it’s fine.” He pressed a hand to Hawke’s formerly injured arm, warmth surging through the muscles briefly before dissipating. “I’m not leaving, so you can forget that.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do.” Anders’s brow furrowed. “Just like you worry about me.”

“I…” Hawke pulled in a breath, conceding the point with a nod. “You’re right. I…don’t mean to sound like I’m disappointed you’re here. I’m not. I…” He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. “This is probably one of the worst places for a mage to be.”

“Compared to every other place, you mean?” Anders said dryly. “Come, love… It can’t be that bad.”

Hawke’s lips twitched, and he ducked his head.

“There’s something on your hand,” Anders said after a moment, reaching up to take Hawke’s left hand. “Something – oh.” Lines of white light flickered over his hand as he took hold of Hawke’s, and for an instant Hawke felt the energy of the Fade brush against his skin.

“Right,” Hawke said when Anders didn’t speak. “That. Um…I’m not sure how it got there.”

“This is…” Anders’s eyes flickered white, his thumb pressing into the skin besides the mark. “Why can I sense the Fade sitting in the palm of your hand?”

“It’s really the Fade, then?” Hawke hadn’t been sure, but it was good to have his suspicions confirmed. His fingers twitched as white light flickered over Ander’s hand again, the energy tickling against the mark.

“Yes, it’s…” Anders closed his eyes, his skin seeming to break into cracks of white light for an instant before Justice drew back. “It’s like…a door.” He met Hawke’s eyes, looking utterly appalled. “And you have it sitting in your  _hand_.”

“It’s not like I intentionally put a door to the Fade in my hand!” Hawke didn’t pull his hand away, but he did curl his fingers in self-consciously. “I don’t know how it happened. I woke up with it after the explosion.”

“You—”

Cassandra’s voice cut off what Anders would have said, his mouth snapping shut. “Herald!”

“Varric was  _serious_  about that?” Anders sounded disbelieving.

“Surprise?” Hawke shot him a sheepish look before glancing down the hill. “They don’t know who I am. They think my name is Trevelyan.”

Anders accepted that without question, his eyes flickering down to the daggers Hawke had. “And you didn’t want to shave.”

“Shut up.” Hawke squeezed Anders’s hand reassuringly before letting go and stepping back out in plain view.

“Herald!” Cassandra stormed up the path, looking supremely displeased. “What are you doing up here?”

“Breathing,” Hawke said blandly, just for the strangled snort Anders let out.

Cassandra didn’t seem amused. “That was not an answer. What were you—” She caught sight of Anders, eyes narrowing briefly. “Who is this?”

“My contact,” Hawke said casually. “He keeps me posted on all things questionable.”

Anders went to stand by Hawke, tugging on the edge of his cloak. “You flatter me…Herald.” He carefully didn’t look at Hawke, though his lips were twitching.

“You have contacts?” Cassandra asked Hawke suspiciously.

“What kind of rogue would I be if I didn’t?”

“You…have a point.” Cassandra shot a glance over her shoulder. “Are there any other contacts we should expect?” Her tone made it rather clear that she would rather that Anders be the only “contact” they acquire.

“No, he’s the only one who could make it,” Hawke said.

“And will he be staying with us?”

Anders’s glance to Hawke told him exactly what his answer should be. “Yes. We were traveling together before and had intended on meeting after the Conclave. But it…exploded.”

“You’re here now,” Anders said, discreetly brushing his hand against Hawke’s.

“We are not in a place to refuse aid,” Cassandra said slowly, “no matter where it may come from.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “That presumes the fact that I would listen to you in the first place. The company I keep is my own business.”

Cassandra’s answer was stilted. “You have more than yourself to consider now, Herald.”

“I never wanted the title,” Hawke reminded her. “If the people can’t tolerate who my friends are, then they should prepare to be disappointed.” He gave her a pointed look, not wanting to argue further about this. “In any case, did you want something?”

Lips pinching briefly, Cassandra gave a brief nod. “Mother Giselle wishes to speak with you.”

Maker’s breath, seriously? “Didn’t you speak with her?”

“And she insisted on speaking with you,” Cassandra said, and this time there was a note of apology in her voice. “I do not know why.”

“It’s not a trap, is it?” Hawke asked, just for the off chance it was.

“I don’t think so. Even if it is one, you will not be alone.” The words were firm. “Will you come?”

Hawke couldn’t help a wry smile. “So I have a choice in this?”

“You do,” Cassandra said simply. She said nothing else, although it looked like she wanted to.

“But it would help, wouldn’t it?” Hawke sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He had blood on his hands and didn’t want it smeared over his skin. “All right. Let’s see this Mother Giselle.”

Cassandra let him take the lead as they headed downhill, presumably so she could grill Anders.

Hawke resisted the urge to turn around and watch them, instead keeping an ear on the conversation.

“My name is Cassandra.”

“Nathan Cousland,” Anders said promptly, not missing a beat.

There was a distinct note of shock in Cassandra’s voice now. “Cousland? Do you know—”

“The Hero of Ferelden?” Anders sounded amused. “She’s a cousin of mine, but I haven’t seen her in some time. Don’t ask me how we’re related – I never paid attention in any of my lessons.”

“I wasn’t aware that the Couslands had a mage in the family,” Cassandra said after a moment.

“Well, you know how it is with nobles and mages. They usually like to sweep us under the carpet.” Bitterness colored Anders’s tone. “They can’t have magic tainting the blood, can they?”

“Were you at the Circle in Ferelden, then?”

Anders’s response was brusque. “For a time.”

Perhaps sensing that Anders wasn’t willing to further entertain that topic, Cassandra let it drop.

Hawke managed to not turn around to give Anders a concerned look, and he nodded pointedly at Varric when he caught sight of them and his eyes widened briefly.

“My contact, Nathan Cousland,” Hawke said to Varric and Solas, discreetly eyeing Varric to check his reaction to Anders. He didn’t seem overly antagonistic, which was better than Hawke had expected considering how strained relations had been last time Anders and Varric had spoken. “He’ll be joining us. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see what Mother Giselle wants that she couldn’t tell Cassandra.”

No one said anything, but when Hawke left he heard Varric cheerfully ask Anders, “Any relation to the Hero of Ferelden?”

Hawke didn’t get to hear Anders’s answer, but he was sure it was appropriately witty. He instead headed in the direction of where Cassandra had indicated Mother Giselle was earlier. She didn’t immediately follow after, but he could hear the clanking of her armor by the time he headed up the stairs.

It was actually rather reassuring that she had his back, even if he didn’t know her that well.

Mother Giselle was indeed tending to the wounded, talking quietly to an injured man on the pallet in front of her. Others were laid out around her, a few mages tending to their wounds with the soft glow of basic healing magic. Some seemed visibly nervous to be helped by mages, but none were objecting to the treatment.

Hawke stopped at a reasonably safe distance of several feet. “Mother Giselle, I presume?”

Giselle looked up, no surprise on her face when she saw him standing there. “I am.” She stood gracefully, closing the distance between them and saying, “And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

Hawke stared at her, noting she seemed to be nothing but normal. “That’s what I hear.” He folded his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “What couldn’t you tell Cassandra?”

If she was offended, Giselle didn’t show it. “I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I’m familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you. Some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine.”

“Of course,” Hawke said dryly.

Giselle didn’t react except to continue speaking. “Some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us…”

There was nothing Hawke could say to that which wouldn’t make him sound like he was being a complete and utter asshole, so he kept quiet, inclining his head, bidding her to go on.

“They fear you, Herald,” Giselle told him, her voice dropping. “They fear what you can do. They fear who you are – who the people are calling ‘Herald.’ But they don’t know you.”

Hawke lifted his shoulders, not bothering to modulate his tone as he responded, “No one does.”

“This is my point,” Giselle said calmly. “Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

The words were so astonishing – so ridiculous – that Hawke’s first reaction was nothing more than to just…stare. Surely…she wasn’t  _serious_ , was she?

But…no. She actually was?

“You’re serious,” Hawke said finally, voice strangled. “Maker’s breath, you’re actually  _serious_.”

Giselle frowned now, her brow furrowing slightly. “I am.”

“Andraste’s ass…” Hawke brought his hand up to his mouth before he could break down into inappropriate laughter. “How do you even think that’s a good idea? They want my head and you think it’s going to help if I just go up and talk to them? Actually, the fact that you think they’ll even  _listen_  is just…” He couldn’t help but snort derisively. “No.”

“You are no longer alone,” Giselle pointed out. “They cannot imprison or attack you.”

“You think that matters?” Hawke threw his hands up, turning on his heel to walk off. He was done.

“Herald—”

“ _No_ ,” Hawke snapped before she could finish, turning sharply to give her a piercing glare. “The Chantry will think what it always thinks, and it will do what it pleases. Nothing I say or do will change that, so it isn’t worth my time. I have more important things to do than appease uppity clerics who can’t be bothered to think of what happens outside their cozy buildings.”

“Do not be so quick to dismiss them, Herald,” Giselle warned him.

“Quick?” Hawke huffed. “You think I’m dismissing them on a lark? No, Mother. I know exactly what I’m talking about. If they still had the templars on their leash, then we might have a problem, but they don’t even have that anymore. As you said, it’s clerics grandstanding because they’re scared of what they don’t understand, and I don’t have the time or patience to make them understand something they never will.”

Turning, Hawke caught sight of Cassandra’s rather flabbergasted expression. He didn’t see what it changed to when he walked past her, and he didn’t hear if she said anything to Giselle, hurrying down the stairs and to the others.

“I take it that didn’t go as expected?” Varric asked once Hawke stopped by Anders.

“It went exactly as expected,” Hawke said, shrugging. He paused. “How furious does Cassandra look right now?”

“Er…” Varric peeked around Hawke.

“Not that angry,” Anders said thoughtfully. “I assume you acted as you usually do?”

“You make it sound like I murder kittens in front of Chantry clerics.”

“There would be no forgiveness for such an act,” Anders answered primly, though he was smirking.

“She seems more worried than angry,” Solas said, looking faintly amused. “Were you expecting otherwise?”

“Oh, you know, I thought once the shock wore off she might want to stab me since I effectively just told the Chantry to shove it up—”

“Herald!” Cassandra stormed up next to him, not quite grabbing his arm but seeming rather like she wanted to. She opened her mouth, only to snap it shut upon looking around them. “I need to speak with you,” she said instead, the words clipped. “In private.”

“Should be private enough as we head back to camp,” Hawke said, making his tone as mild as possible. “Anyone we run into will probably be too busy running from Varric’s arrows to listen in.”

“Aw, thanks,” Varric drawled. “Bianca’s blushing.”

“Bianca is a crossbow,” Solas said, looking down his nose at Varric. It didn’t seem like he was disagreeing with Varric but more curious about what Varric would come up with.

“Ah, but  _what_  a crossbow!”

“Are you claiming that your  _wooden_  crossbow is capable of blushing?”

“If the shoe fits…”

With a disgusted groan, Cassandra turned on her heel and stormed off slightly to the right of the way back to camp.

“Cassandra?” Hawke called.

“We need to speak to Corporal Vale,” was all Cassandra said in answer, not even looking back at him.

“I think she’s angry,” Anders told him sotto voice.

Hawke wasn’t even surprised given what he’d essentially just told Giselle. “Oh, you think?”

“What  _did_  you say to Mother Giselle?” Solas asked.

“Nothing she should have been surprised by if she was even slightly aware of how the Chantry operates.” Hawke rolled his shoulders once before heading after Cassandra. “Idealism only takes one so far.”

Solas said nothing else other than making a considering noise.

Hawke didn’t go near Cassandra as she spoke with the supposed Corporal Vale, but he could still hear enough to note that she was checking what the refugees needed. It was good to know, and when Corporal Vale indicated the direction where Recruit Whittle was, Hawke headed off to see what else was needed.

Some minutes later and given a map of the Hinterlands that looked more like chicken-scratch than anything legible, Hawke met up with the others. “We’re supposed to look for supplies in the spots marked by x’s, but I think one of these spots is on a mountain.”

Anders squinted at the map Hawke was holding. “It could be a lake?”

“Give it to me,” Cassandra said, sighing. She took the sorry map and held it up to her professional rendition of the Hinterlands that had been given to her by Josephine. “Hm… This will take some time.”

“Since we’re not heading to Val Royeaux to become martyrs, we have it,” Hawke said.

The glare Cassandra shot him was entirely expected.

* * *

Getting the supplies ended up not being so easy after all. Aside from the fact that they went through a tunnel they shouldn’t have gone through and ended up smack in the middle of the worst of the fighting between the templars and mages.

Not wanting to bring it back to the Crossroads, they pushed through and came out at the other end and much closer to where they could procure horses for the Inquisition. And also further away from where the supplies were marked as being.

Cassandra denied having misread the map, but she didn’t protest Varric stealing it from her and declaring himself to be the new navigator. No one pointed out the irony of a dwarf being the navigator on the surface, even if that dwarf was a surface dwarf.

They did end up setting up camp by the farmhouses since it was already evening and it would take too much time heading back to their original camp. That, and no one was really willing to wade through that fiery mess between the mages and templars again.

There were some rifts nearby, but Hawke was in no mood to go and see where exactly they were. The magic tickled the back of his neck and had his mark tingling, but it was bearable. They could wait until the morning when he’d hopefully gotten some more sleep than he had the previous night.

“We need to talk,” Cassandra said to Hawke once the tents were set up.

Hawke carefully adjusted the side of the tent, ignoring the fact that it didn’t need to be adjusted. “We’re talking.”

“Trevelyan.”

Hawke looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “Oh good. And here I thought you’d forgotten my name, what with all the ‘Heralds’ you were throwing about earlier.”

Cassandra had her arms folded across her chest, a scowl on her face. “The people see you as the Herald, even if you refuse the name yourself. But that is not what I wanted to talk with you about.”

“Please don’t tell me you actually wanted to go to Val Royeaux.”

“It’s not what I  _want_  to do,” Cassandra said sharply. “It’s what needs to be done. As it stands, we have no Chantry support, and we will not  _get_  any Chantry support unless something changes.”

Hawke stared at her. “And you think the best way to do that is for me to walk up to them and say ‘Trust me, I know what I’m doing’?”

He ignored the nearly inaudible “He never knows what he’s doing” that Anders muttered to Varric. Along with the ensuing snort from Varric.

“I do not understand how you could make such a decision without considering the consequences!”

“You were the Right Hand of the Divine, Seeker. Do you  _really_  think anything I could say would change their minds?”

“I…” Cassandra exhaled loudly, the sound defeated. “No. You…you’re right. As much as it pains me to admit it.”

“You formed the Inquisition without their support,” Hawke said in a gentler tone. “I was there when you essentially told Chancellor Roderick to go fuck himself”—Varric’s mock scandalized “ _Seeker_!” had Hawke’s lips twitching—“and you built what we have right now without the help of the Chantry.”

“That…is not entirely true,” Cassandra said slowly, her shoulders rounding slightly. “We were originally funded and supported by Divine Justinia. Those who knew were closest to her and were all at the Conclave. Now…we lack even that.” She turned her hands up helplessly. “Perhaps the Chantry would not have supported us, but it was worth a try.”

Hawke shot a glance back at Anders, seeing a stricken look pass over his features before he ducked his head.

Worth a try? Hadn’t they  _done_  that before? Hadn’t they  _tried_  talking? Tried reasoning? Only to be met with deaf ears?

Hawke was done with the Chantry – done with trying to talk and  _reason_  with them. Perhaps the Conclave would have ended in something good for both sides, but more likely than not it would have set up something similar to the old system. And in no time at all they would have been back at square one.

He was just—

“If you want to waste your time trying to persuade the Chantry to help when they won’t, that’s your choice,” Hawke said finally, managing to keep his tone even through sheer force of will. He couldn’t – he couldn’t  _tell_  her all he wanted, not without revealing far too much. “We don’t have the time to travel to Val Royeaux on a fool’s errand.”

“It might not have been a fool’s errand,” Cassandra said, but there was no heat in her voice, just weariness. She closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head. “What do you suggest we do, then? At this point we cannot approach either the templars or the rebel mages, and we need their help to close the Breach. If we had approached the Chantry, perhaps something could have been done, even if they refused to listen to us.”

Hawke bit back the kneejerk response of “ _Not the templars!_ ” and instead said, “We’ll figure something out.”

“I wish I could share your endless optimism,” Cassandra said.

Shrugging, Hawke offered, “You have the faith for both of us, I’ll have the optimism.”

“That was  _optimistic_?” Varric asked incredulously, looking up from the fire he was poking into life to stare at the two of them.

“Was it not?” Solas seemed only slightly interested in the conversation, not bothering to lift his eyes from where he was rifling through his bag.

“That was optimistic,” Anders said, giving Hawke a warm smile. “He’s as good as his word.”

“Your definition of optimistic and mine are two different things,” Varric told Anders.

“It is done,” Cassandra said, ignoring the byplay. “Short of physically dragging you to Val Royeaux, there is nothing we can do. And somehow I suspect you would protest rather vehemently if I attempted to do so.”

Hawke was unable to resist a smirk. “You suspect right.”

There was no answering smile, but some of the tension in Cassandra’s frame lifted as she took a seat by the fire Varric had started.

Hawke went to sit by Anders, his back to the small pool of water that they’d set their camp up by. The grass was rather damp, but a discreet rush of heat had it drying up in no time.

Anders shuffled closer to discreetly press their legs together, his staff laid out besides him. It was the Key that Hawke had obtained in Corypheus’s prison, the most powerful staff that they had in their possession. It was also the reason Hawke had left it with Anders, since he could use the added protection.

That it worked as an excellent blunt object was a bonus.

* * *

Cassandra had slipped into her tent and Solas was further down the hill to enjoy the river and some privacy when Varric looked at both Anders and Hawke and said, “Sleeping arrangements… I don’t know about you, but cramming four in a tent is pushing it. Unless you brought your own?” He stared pointedly at Anders.

“Sorry.” Anders’s shrug didn’t look very apologetic. “My camp’s back where we came from. I didn’t anticipate ending up on the other side of the Hinterlands today.”

“I don’t need the tent,” Hawke said, only to regret it when he saw Varric frown at him.

“You didn’t  _sleep_  last night,” Varric said. He lowered his voice to ask, “When’s the last time you  _did_  sleep?”

“I…” Hawke couldn’t answer, blinking as he looked down. He’d been able to catch snatches of sleep now and then, but he hadn’t really been able to  _sleep_  since—

“Andraste’s ass, you’re hopeless.” Varric sighed, the sound longsuffering. “Both of you.”

“I’m fine.” Hawke wasn’t even lying when he said that.

“Oh, sure, you can pull it off, but I  _know_  you. And all the fancy spell work in the world isn’t going to help you in the long run.”

“ _Hawke_!” Anders hissed. “You know those spells aren’t supposed to be used like that!”

Hawke resisted the urge to pull his shoulders in. He’d done nothing  _wrong_ …beyond abusing some spells more than necessary to keep him on his feet. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Both Anders and Varric said at the same time, “ _Sleep_?”

“You didn’t sleep either,” Hawke told Anders irritably. “You think I can’t see that?”

“You don’t have a Fade spirit in your head,” Anders whispered furiously.

“I have the Fade sitting in my  _hand_.” Hawke raised said hand, pulling the mark to life for an instant.

“I…you have a point.” Anders shook his head.

“Traitor.” Varric pointedly turned away from Anders. “The point is…my point is that you need to sleep, and we’re going to end up cramming ourselves into that tent, aren’t we?” He rubbed his face, sighing. “Okay, fine. I’ll just scrunch up really small.” He eyed them suspiciously. “No funny business, all right?”

“Why, Varric”—Hawke affected an offended expression—“we would never dare to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

This didn’t seem to make Varric feel better. “I  _know_  I’m going to regret this.”

* * *

_The healer was – the healer was the brightest thing he had ever seen. It felt like the Fade was swirling in and around him. He’d never seen such a thing before; it didn’t even feel like **magic**._

_“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation. Why do you threaten it?”_

_He hadn’t managed an answer, too busy breathing in the scent around the healer and taking in the strange light about him._

_It was Carver who answered, voice rough. “We’re not. We just want the maps. If you’re the Grey Warden, that is.”_

_“Maps? Why do you want maps?”_

_He stepped in before Carver could speak again, glad that his voice was even enough. “We’re planning an expedition into the Deep Roads. One of Varric’s contacts caught word of a Grey Warden in Kirkwall—”_

_“And you think I have maps of how to get in?” The healer relaxed his stance. “If I never have to enter the blighted Deep Roads again it will be too soon.” He paused briefly as he looked at them, eyes lingering on him for a moment longer, something too bright flashing behind them._

_It wasn’t until that night he realized that Anders was so bright because he was hosting a spirit. And for that battle, the light in and around him seemed to **darken** , taking on that sickening stench of Kirkwall._

_But it withdrew as soon as it was over, and it was simply Anders standing there, shocked and horrified at what had happened to his friend. His… **Tranquil**  friend._

_He’d seen Tranquil before in the Gallows, but he hadn’t lingered around them. It was incredibly unnerving to be around them. They were…just a **void**  where something should be, not even like normal humans._

_But for an instant Karl was normal again, even though he could see that normality fading quickly._

_And it was that which had him persuading Anders to please end it._

_Anders’s offer to join the Deep Roads’s expedition was a welcome surprise. It probably wasn’t wise, but he desperately wanted to know more about Anders and the spirit he hosted._

_Because Anders…Anders was no abomination._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thoughts? :D
> 
> Anders has a new outfit, which was inspired by [this art](http://inukagome15.tumblr.com/post/151163112971/mikkeneko-alistairsshinyunderoos-wanted-to). Sorry, but the feathers were outdated and all over the place in Inquisition. Which means a new wardrobe.
> 
> In case you haven't noticed, this Hawke has some rather strong feelings about the Chantry. More to come on that later. :P
> 
> Also please note the jabs at common bugs in Inquisition. Namely, that one supply point that the map _insists_ is up on the mountain, even though there's no way to get up there.
> 
> Next chapter should be up in two weeks!


	5. Hinterlands II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the wheel keeps turning... Ripples are spreading outwards, and things are _changing_. Isn't that fun? :D
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Flashbacks are still chronological for now.

_“I can’t stand the blighted Deep Roads.”_

_“…I’m sorry.”_

_“Maker’s breath…what are you apologizing for?”_

_“You wouldn’t be down here if I hadn’t asked you to come.”_

_“If I hadn’t come, you would all be dead. Or, well, maybe **you**  wouldn’t be, but the others would.”_

_He didn’t speak for a few seconds, eyes on the rocks all around them. “I’m sorry,” he said again._

_Anders didn’t answer, arms wrapped around himself as he huddled against the side of the tunnel they were resting in. It was a dead end but safe enough from darkspawn according to Anders, and they desperately needed the rest if they were to make the rest of the trek back out to the surface. Fenris and Varric were asleep._

_He should be, too, but he had difficulties sleeping in a place like this, the Fade feeling strange to his senses._

_“You didn’t make me come with you,” Anders whispered, his face cast in shadows that the lights they had conjured earlier couldn’t pierce. “I came because I wanted to.”_

_It meant – it meant more to him than words could express that Anders had done so. He could’ve asked Aveline to come with if Anders had chosen not to, but he was glad Anders had agreed._

_He hadn’t… He didn’t really know how to act around Anders, stumbling over his words and messing up whenever he tried to say something nice. He’d fucked up after Karl, saying something horrendously awful about that “sexy tortured look,” and it was probably only kindness that had Anders indulging him._

_It hadn’t exactly improved in the days and weeks after. Carver had told him that he was absolutely pitiful to watch but had offered no tips either._

_He didn’t…he didn’t **do**  things like this. Not really. And he wasn’t sure what it was, only that it was warmth and light and something that he hadn’t felt before but wanted to keep feeling. And it wasn’t because Anders had a spirit lighting him up from the inside out._

_“Thank you.” He had no other words to give, and he pressed his shoulder against Anders’s hesitantly, increasing the pressure when Anders didn’t pull away. “I know you don’t like it here.”_

_“I couldn’t have you face broodmothers without me,” Anders said quietly, looking up just enough for the small smile on his face to be visible._

_“Broodmothers?”_

_“You really don’t want to know.” Slowly, as if unsure of his welcome, Anders leaned his head against his shoulder, sighing. “If I had to be in the Deep Roads with someone, at least it’s you, Hawke.”_

_He almost didn’t breathe, closing his eyes against the unfamiliar feeling swelling in his chest and heart. Anders’s body was warm against his own. “Yes…likewise.”_

* * *

Hawke didn’t immediately register that someone was shaking his shoulder. He was still half-caught in the lingering remnants of his dream, and for a second he thought it was the giant monster shaking him until he heard the monster talk in what was Varric’s voice.

“C’ _mon_ , wake up. I know you guys are all cozy, but it’d be a little suspicious if they see you like this.”

Jolting, Hawke nearly hit Varric in the nose with his head. “Wha—?”

“Oh, good.” Varric carefully pulled back a little. “Sorry to wake you, but you should probably make sure that’s kept under wraps.”

It took Hawke a moment to realize what Varric meant, his eyes falling on where Anders’s hand was resting over his left one, cracks of spirit-light flickering through his skin. In turn the mark on his hand pulsed a soft green, the ever-present humming slightly louder than it usually was.

Exhaling slowly, Hawke pulled his hand back, curling his fingers in as he quieted whatever the mark had been doing with Justice. The cracks of light in Anders’s skin disappeared as the skin contact was broken, and the taste of the Fade that also sharpened with Justice’s presence receded.

Shaking his head, Hawke rubbed his left hand over his face, reluctant to pull away from Anders’s warmth. He really wanted to just roll over and go back to sleep, but he was reminded of Solas’s presence at the other end of the tent. Thankfully he still seemed to be asleep.

Breathing rhythmically, Hawke didn’t look at Varric as he let a mild rejuvenating spell rush through him, keeping his eyes closed as he pulled on his mana. The spell chased away the last of the exhaustion clinging to his muscles, although it would come back as soon as he let it.

He couldn’t even remember waking up last night, if he even had at any point. But he knew he hadn’t fallen asleep in this position.

There was a rustling noise as Varric left the tent, and Hawke took another moment to pull himself together before slowly extricating himself from Anders’s grip.

Anders grumbled slightly but didn’t wake, even as light broke through his skin when Hawke brushed his left hand over his face. Leaning down to press a kiss to Anders’s forehead, Hawke let Justice do whatever he wanted for another moment before pulling back entirely.

He would have to ask Anders what that was with Justice, but it was very likely Anders wouldn’t have any answers either. Even though circumstances were better now, there was no proper way of communicating with Justice.

Cassandra was up and about by the time Hawke came out, and she nodded at him. Varric shot him a slightly apologetic look when she wasn’t looking, but it cleared up when Hawke just shrugged.

“It is good you are up,” Cassandra said, looking over to the farmhouses. “We have a great deal to do today.”

“Fantastic.” Hawke knelt by the pool of water, splashing his face and after a moment’s thought also dunking his head in it.

When he resurfaced and turned around, Anders was blearily making his way out of the tent, rubbing his eyes.

“Is the sun even up?” Anders asked grumpily.

“Yes,” Cassandra said.

Anders said nothing else, just making a disgruntled noise and joining Hawke. “It was cold without you,” he murmured so the others couldn’t hear.

Hawke almost touched Anders, hands twitching before he reminded himself that it wasn’t the best idea. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Anders sighed, rubbing his face with a hand and pinching his nose. “How are you so…” He trailed off, fixing Hawke with a narrow-eyed stare.

Hawke blinked back innocently.

“Don’t give me that look,” Anders hissed. “You did it again, didn’t you?”

“Did what?”

“What are you two plotting?” Varric asked loudly, cutting into whatever else Anders might have said.

“I’m hurt you think we were plotting anything,” Hawke said automatically, not looking away from Anders.

“I’ve learned that whispering is never a good thing,” Varric said. “It usually leads to things exploding.”

Hawke did look away from Anders now, lips twisting at Varric’s subtle reminder.

“No one is exploding anything,” Cassandra said. “We want Dennet to help the Inquisition, not brush us off as madmen.”

Varric tilted his head. “I thought we were?”

Cassandra was glaring at Varric when Solas came out of the tent, wide-eyed and not looking at all sleepy. “I seemed to have overslept. My apologies.”

At least someone  _had_  overslept.

Hawke pulled in a sharp breath as the rifts not far from here tugged at his attention. They had been easily enough put off last night due to his exhaustion, but they were like bruises now.

“Before we go and find any horses, we should probably deal with the rifts here,” Hawke said, resisting the urge to flex his left hand.

“Have you seen the one by the river?” Solas asked.

Hawke glanced in the direction of the river. “Just one?”

“How did you know there are rifts here?” Solas’s eyes flicked down to Hawke’s hand, brow furrowing briefly.

“I have a compass in my hand?” Hawke slowly stood, running a hand through his hair and wiping off some of the water on his face. “I’m guessing the other can’t be too far from here.”

“Does it hurt you?” Anders asked him lowly.

Hawke considered the question, flexing his hand. It…didn’t really  _hurt_  him anymore. It was just more of an annoyance now. “No,” he said eventually, giving him a small smile.

Anders pursed his lips, head tilting down as he eyed the offending hand. He didn’t say anything, but for an instant the sense of the  _Fade_  around him sharpened, although there was no visible sign of Justice coming to the surface.

“We should take care of the rifts first,” Cassandra said decisively, picking up her sword and shield and tromping past Hawke and Anders.

“Great,” Varric said, sighing heavily. “A bath was just the thing I wanted.”

Hawke almost told him that maybe a bath wasn’t the worst idea, but that was until he actually stepped into the river and realized how freezing cold it was. The despair demons the rift spat out didn’t make things any easier.

He ran through most of his more volatile explosives in the first two minutes and then had to throw the Antivan fire grenades Aidan had given him. The ensuing explosion of fire was so hot that he could feel it twenty feet away.

“Careful!” Cassandra shouted, just a few feet off to the side of where he’d thrown the first grenade.

“Sorry!” Hawke jumped backwards as he felt a terror demon tunnel under him. He slashed his dagger down in time to embed it in its head as it jumped out of the ground. Pulling lightly on his mana, Hawke sent a surge of spirit energy through the blade and into the demon’s body.

The ensuing explosion wasn’t entirely expected but probably should have been, as was the shriek that had his head ringing.

Or maybe that was because he’d been thrown into solid stone.

Staggering to his feet, Hawke pulled in a painful breath, ribs aching with the movement. But a second later a refreshing rush of warm magic suffused his limbs, erasing the aches and sending a fresh flush of energy through him.

A fireball flew over his head, slamming into a despair demon not far from him. Turning his head, Hawke saw Anders switching his focus to Varric and Cassandra. Cassandra actually stumbled slightly when the magic washed over her, but she quickly refocused and took down the despair demon she was fighting.

Given a quick breather, Hawke turned his face up to the open rift, breathing in magic and the scent of the Fade for a brief moment before holding his hand up and  _pulling_.

There was more than he’d expected, and several tendrils stretched out to the demons still fighting the others. Hawke bit his lip, spreading his focus on cutting those tendrils.

They snapped under his attention, the demons’ shrieking piercing through his head and  _hurting_. But he had the rift closed in another few seconds, and the last demon left fell easily under Cassandra’s sword.

“All right,” Varric said, panting and soaked from head to foot, “is the next one going to be as bad? Because if it’s in another river, I refuse to do it.”

“You’re a healer,” Cassandra said to Anders, sounding surprised. She wiped off a trail of blood on her cheek.

“Didn’t expect a healer out here?” The corner of Anders’s lips tilted up in a wry smirk. “Most of us aren’t that good with offensive spells.”

“Not  _just_  a healer,” Solas said after a moment. “You’re a spirit healer.”

Anders tilted his head in agreement.

“I thought most of the spirit healers were with the rebel mages,” Cassandra said, sloshing through the water to get to dry land.

“ _Most_.” Anders shrugged, scratching the back of his head. “Not that there were many of us anyway.” He grabbed hold of Hawke when he came close, running a glowing hand over his chest. “You had me worried for a moment.”

Hawke let Anders check him for any other wounds, touching Anders’s side before he could think the better of it. “Just a moment?”

A loud cough from Varric cut off Anders’s response. “Sorry, got something stuck in my throat there for a moment. This is why rivers and I don’t mix. Or water in general. Did I ever tell you I can’t swim?”

“No,” Cassandra said, “but now everything about the trip here makes sense.”

“Was me puking over your shoes not news enough?”

Cassandra wrinkled her nose in remembered disgust. “ _No_.”

Hawke ducked his head, hiding a smirk. Anders was less discreet, actually snorting before coughing and looking entirely too innocent when Cassandra shot him a glare.

“Do you know where the second rift is?” Solas asked Hawke in an undertone while Varric and Cassandra continued to trade barbs.

Hawke didn’t answer immediately, spreading his focus out as he tried to feel where that sense of  _wrongness_  was coming from. With one rift taken care of, it was easier to pinpoint the other.

“Yes,” he said after a moment, bending to take a sprig of elfroot. He came up to see Anders trying not to smile at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Anders shrugged, one hand coming down to the bag at his side. “Just…you and elfroot. You and herbs in general, actually.”

“You don’t know when they’ll come in handy.” Hawke resisted the urge to throw the elfroot in Anders’s face.

“They are useful for potions,” Cassandra said, surprising Hawke as she came to his defense.

“Until all you have in your pack are herbs,” Anders said.

“I didn’t see you complaining when we ran out of health potions and I had the supplies for more.”

“L—” Anders broke off, grimacing and shaking his head. “We were surrounded by nothing  _but_  elfroot at that point.”

“Should we pack more bags?” Cassandra asked, tilting her head and eyeing the elfroot Hawke was still holding. “For the herbs you will inevitably gather.”

“No.” Hawke stuffed the elfroot in his bag, which was emptier than before thanks to those blighted despair demons. “We’re good. Let’s head to the other rift.”

* * *

The second rift ended up being right by the farmhouses and was more easily managed than the one by the river. After, Cassandra went to speak to Dennet, giving Hawke a scrutinizing look for a long moment before shaking her head and heading off without another word.

“I think she’s scared you’ll go and piss him off, too,” Varric said when Cassandra was out of earshot.

“We actually  _need_  horses,” Hawke said, taking a seat on a boulder. “We don’t need the Chantry.”

“An unusual stance for a human to take,” Solas said neutrally, eyes flicking to Varric.

Hawke couldn’t help the wry twist of his lips. “Perhaps.”

“I’m going to see if there are any herbs around,” Anders said, rifling through his pack. “Herbs that  _aren’t_  elfroot,” he added before Hawke could open his mouth. “You have that covered.”

He didn’t have  _that_  much elfroot on his person. Not anymore, anyway.

“I’ll join you,” Hawke said. “Since I’m running low on elfroot and all.”

“Really.”

“Really.” Hawke kept his face blank up until he was far away enough from Varric and Solas that he couldn’t help but break into a grin.

Anders hit his shoulder, giving him a reluctantly amused look. “ _You’re_  out of elfroot?”

“They keep taking my things.” Hawke jerked his head back in the direction of the others. “I’m not sure what they thought I would do with a bag of elfroot.”

“You didn’t leave with a bag of elfroot.”

“I picked some up along the way?”

“Of course you did.” Anders sounded more fond than annoyed, giving Hawke a warm smile.

Hawke almost reached out to touch that smile, fingers twitching with the urge, but he remembered just in time that they were still in eyesight of Varric and Solas. It…wouldn’t be a  _terrible_  idea if they revealed their relationship, but there was too high a likelihood that someone would recognize Anders for who he was, and then realize who  _he_  was by association.

Cullen would no doubt recognize Anders immediately. He had seen Anders too often to be fooled, and Anders looked entirely himself.

“What is it now?” Anders asked warily. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

Hawke didn’t really think he had a  _look_ , but Anders could always tell if something was up by looking at him. “Did Varric tell you anything about the Inquisition?”

“He mentioned it, but I was a little more worried about you.” Anders bent to take a snip of embrium.

“It’s going to close the Breach.” Hawke turned his face to the sky, looking to where the hole to the Fade was visible. “You’ve met Cassandra, and Leliana is the spymaster. Our ambassador is Josephine, an Antivan. And then…there’s Cullen.”

Anders stiffened, and for a split-second the smell of the Fade sharpened painfully. But there was no visible sign of Justice appearing. “Cullen?”

“Yes.” Hawke didn’t mince words. “He didn’t recognize me, but it was a close call. If you come—”

“ _If_  I come?” Anders reared up, turning furiously on Hawke. “I’m coming, Hawke. You almost died  _twice_. Do you really think I’d let you go again? If something happens, and I’m not there—” He broke off, breath coming fast and his head shaking in denial. “I can’t risk it – I can’t, I  _can’t_ —”

Hawke stepped closer, aching to hold Anders but unable to. “ _It’s Corypheus_.”

Freezing, Anders’s eyes widened. “What?”

“It’s Corypheus,” Hawke repeated, fisting his hands at his belt so he wouldn’t do anything such as touch Anders where the others could see. “He’s back. I can’t risk you either—”

“Do you think it matters?” Anders was shaking his head again, trembling. “I…fuck.” He pressed his hands to his head, eyes squeezed shut. “That explains it.”

Hawke’s chest seemed to constrict. “Explains what?”

“I…” Anders ducked his head, his hands hiding his face from view. “I’ve been hearing it. The  _Calling_.” His voice was desperate, the words coming quickly now. “But I didn’t…I didn’t know what to say. And then the Conclave happened, and I couldn’t distract you—”

“ _Distract_  me?” Hawke reached out unthinkingly, taking hold of Anders’s hands and holding on tightly. They felt warm under his touch, although the right tingled under his left as spirit light crept out of Anders’s skin. It was nothing like Larius’s blighted skin and corrupted visage, the smell of rotting skin and death overpowering. That wasn’t there with Anders – had never been as far as Hawke could tell. “I would have been worried sick, but nothing you tell me is a  _distraction_. Not something like  _this_. You…how long has this been going on?”

“I…I don’t know. A month? Maybe more? It…it’s not so bad, really.” Anders’s smile looked more terrified than reassuring. “Justice has actually been blocking the worst of it, but I didn’t… I couldn’t figure out how to tell you…”

“How to tell me that you were essentially dying?”

“…Yes.” Anders drifted closer, dropping his head to Hawke’s shoulder. “But…if it’s really Corypheus…”

“You’re not dying,” Hawke breathed, pressing a hand to Anders’s spine. “You’re not.”

“No, but…” Anders pressed his forehead into Hawke’s shoulder. “If  _I_  can hear it…what about the other Wardens?”

The words reminded Hawke of what Leliana had told him. “That might explain Leliana’s missing Wardens.”

“What?” Anders pulled away enough to meet Hawke’s eyes, frowning. “They’re missing?”

“Apparently.” Hawke rubbed his thumb back and forth, focusing on the warmth he could feel. “I don’t know much, but there’s a Warden here in the Hinterlands that we’re supposed to meet with: Warden Blackwall.”

Anders tilted his head in thought. “I’ve not heard of him.”

“Yes, well…” Hawke shrugged, giving him a small smile that was probably more relieved than it should have been. “You’ll meet him if you come with us.”

The frown that Anders now wore was entirely expected. “ _If_? Love, I don’t care if the Divine herself is with the Inquisition,  _I’m coming with you_.”

Hawke pulled in several breaths, then said in an even tone, “I suppose it’s too bad the Divine’s dead, then.”

Anders’s laugh was a tad more hysterical than usual, but Hawke didn’t point that out. He was feeling a little on the hysterical side himself.

* * *

They managed to acquire horses after running some errands for Dennet. They involved fighting a pack of wolves driven mad by a fear demon and scouting out locations for watchtowers.

Hawke privately thought that the locations for the watchtowers didn’t seem very well thought out, but Cassandra said nothing so he held his tongue. It was simple enough, and it meant that they could close some more rifts as they moved through the Hinterlands.

It became easier every time they closed another one, Hawke becoming more familiar with how the mark worked and connected with the rifts. On the last one, he had actually managed to close the rift several minutes after the demons popped out, stunning most and disintegrating a few wraiths instantly.

Anders always shot him a concerned glance whenever his hand started glowing green, but by now it wasn’t even a concern. He didn’t even notice it unless he paid attention to the mark and what it was doing. It did flare to life around rifts, tugging at his attention, but it wasn’t exactly painful.

If he was going to be stuck with a mark on his hand that he couldn’t figure out how to get off, then it shouldn’t be painful.

Leliana’s reports had simply put Blackwall somewhere by Lake Luthias, but the lake itself was rather large. They marked the location on the map Varric had taken from Cassandra and then proceeded to see if there was a way up to the lake that didn’t involve climbing a waterfall.

There was a building on the other side of the lake, along with obvious signs that someone fished there regularly. Whether it was Blackwall Hawke couldn’t say, but there was one boat that was half-sunken in the water and he had to wonder just how that happened.

There did seem to be a group of people at the other side. Over the gentle sound of rushing water, Hawke could make out the sounds of metal clanging.

“You think that’s him?” Varric asked, squinting as he looked over.

Hawke shrugged, picking out the driest path to get there. “If it isn’t, we’ll either make a new friend or enemy.”

“I vote for friend,” Varric said, following after him.

“Most of the people we’ve met here haven’t exactly been friendly,” Anders noted blandly.

“I’m still holding out hope.”

Thankfully for Varric’s hopes, it appeared that it was indeed Warden Blackwall. He wasn’t a mage, and neither were any of the men that he was instructing.

“Are you Warden Blackwall?” Hawke asked when Blackwall caught sight of them and raised his sword in mild alarm.

Blackwall didn’t lower his blade, marching aggressively towards Hawke and saying, “You’re not – how do you know my name? Who sent—” A shout broke him off, and Blackwall whirled, taking an arrow in his shield that would have hit Hawke.

Flinching, Hawke grabbed his daggers, looking past the recruits Blackwall had been training to what seemed like a ragtag mercenary group.

“That’s it,” Blackwall snapped, turning to fix Hawke with a glare. “Help or get out. We’re dealing with these idiots first!” He spun on the recruits. “Conscripts! Here they come!”

He had very little idea of what was going on here, but fighting was something he could do. With a look back at the others, Hawke blocked an incoming arrow with a dagger and retaliated by throwing the blade at the archer. It pierced him in the forehead, an instant kill.

“Now you only have one left,” Anders said, unimpressed.

“I only need one.” Hawke stepped back as Cassandra charged in front of him, blocking incoming arrows with her shield.

It was true, but then he really didn’t need to do much. Between his companions, Blackwall, and Blackwall’s conscripts, the mercenary group didn’t stand a chance. When it was over, Hawke went to pull out his dagger and wipe it clean on the dead man’s clothes.

Blackwall was crouched by another dead man, an unreadable expression on his face. “Sorry bastards.” Straightening, Blackwall turned to his men. “Good work, conscripts. Even if this shouldn’t have happened. They could’ve…well. Thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole.” He pointed back in the direction of the valley. “Go back to your families. You saved yourselves.”

Hawke shot a glance at Anders, who was looking at Blackwall with a furrowed brow. He didn’t seem upset, more intrigued and slightly curious, although Hawke couldn’t tell why.

He also couldn’t ask, as Blackwall turned to him and said abruptly, “You’re no farmer. Why do you know my name? Who are you?”

“You’ve no idea how nice it is to meet someone who has no idea who I am,” Hawke said, smiling slightly. “It’s a refreshing change from what my life has been like the past so many days.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“We’re here with the Inquisition,” Hawke said, “looking into the Grey Wardens’ apparent disappearance given the recent murder of the Divine. Unless you also haven’t heard about that?”

Blackwall seemed appalled at the insinuation. “Maker’s balls, the Wardens and the Divine? That can’t – no, you’re asking, so you don’t really know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“The Wardens’ purpose isn’t political,” Blackwall said flatly. “I know no Warden killed the Divine. But I didn’t know about their disappearance. We do that, don’t we? The Blight’s over, so our job’s done. The Wardens are always the first thing forgotten.”

“Ha.” Anders seemed amused. “That’s rather funny, since I remember Warden-Commander Cousland being dragged into politics after the Blight. She liked complaining about that, even though she was nobility.”

“That may be, but we’re not a political organization. What happened after the Fifth Blight was unusual, wasn’t it?” Blackwall folded his arms across his chest, lifting his shoulders with the movement.

“Then where are the others?” Cassandra asked.

“I haven’t seen any Wardens for months,” Blackwall answered, looking to Cassandra. “I travel alone, recruiting.”

“That didn’t look much like recruiting,” Varric said.

“There hasn’t been much interest since the archdemon’s been dead a decade, and there’s been no need to conscript since there’s no Blight coming.” Blackwall shrugged. “Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need. Who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me.”

“How altruistic of you,” Solas said dryly, sounding rather unconvinced.

“Grey Wardens can inspire – make you better than you are,” Blackwall said somberly, bowing his head with his eyes closed. “If I can help, why shouldn’t I?”

Anders was wearing a peculiar expression, one that had Hawke’s heart hurting. He seemed almost like he wanted to say something, but he bit his lower lip, looking down at the ground and remaining silent.

After a moment, Hawke forced himself to look back at Cassandra, saw her frustrated expression, and turned to Blackwall. “You’ve absolutely no information on the other Wardens’ location or what’s been happening?”  _Are you hearing the Calling, too?_  he didn’t ask.

“I don’t.”

“Have you by any chance been hearing any funny music?” Varric asked. “The type that makes you want to go down into the Deep Roads and turn into a smelly hermit?”

“I…don’t think so?” Blackwall sounded nothing but confused now, which absolutely did not make Hawke feel better.

He glanced at Anders, seeing him squeeze his eyes shut. It had to be Corypheus; it wasn’t because Anders was hearing the Warden’s last call and was dying.

Maybe there was another reason for why Blackwall wasn’t hearing the Calling.

“Well,” Hawke said finally, glad when his tone didn’t reveal any of the choking fear in his chest, “this has been a waste of time. Happy ‘conscripting,’ Warden Blackwall.”

With a heavy sense of disappointment and a ball of worry, fear, and frustration settling in his chest, Hawke walked past Blackwall, trying to figure out the next step.

But Blackwall’s voice had him pausing. “Inquisition…agent, did you say? Hold a moment.”

Turning, Hawke saw Blackwall come up to him, determination writ on his expression. “The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

With Corypheus’s involvement, having a Grey Warden’s knowledge would be helpful, especially if Blackwall knew things Anders didn’t. But at the same time, Hawke was all too aware of how Corypheus could influence Wardens.

It was a risk, but was it a risk worth taking?

He looked over Blackwall’s shoulder to meet Cassandra’s eyes. She tilted her head up, raising her eyebrows as her gaze flicked to Blackwall. A second later she met Hawke’s eyes again, nodding curtly.

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Warden Blackwall,” Hawke said, inclining his head at him.

Blackwall’s shoulders slumped slightly in relief. “Good to hear. We both need to know what’s going on, and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long.” A half-smile flickered at his mouth, mostly hidden by his beard. “This Warden walks with the Inquisition.”

“Good to hear,” Hawke echoed Blackwall’s words. “We’ll be staying in the Hinterlands for a little bit longer, helping the refugees. Since you’ve been here longer, what can you tell me about the fighting here?”

“Between the mages and the templars?” Blackwall’s brow furrowed, and he went to pick up his sword from where it was lodged in the ground. “I haven’t really been involved in it, but it hasn’t gotten worse. But then, it hasn’t improved either. I did hear the rebel mages are holed up in Redcliffe Village.”

“My camp’s near there,” Anders offered.

“Is it?” Hawke asked before he could stop himself.

“It was safer than being near the templars,” Anders pointed out evenly. “The worst I had to deal with were some odd mages, and they weren’t interested in little old me.”  _And they can’t hurt me_  went unsaid.

“Let’s see what we can find out,” Hawke said slowly. “If they’re in the village, we need to see what’s going on.”

“We don’t have enough influence to approach them,” Cassandra said sharply. “Leliana’s reports have indicated that the rebel mages in the village have been quiet. It’s those outside that we need to be concerned about.”

“Quiet or not, we’re here, aren’t we?” Hawke raised his eyebrows. “Checking never hurt anyone, and they may decide to see us after all.”

He didn’t wait for a response, heading back in the direction they had come from.

“Herald!”

Hawke didn’t stop, his shoulders inching up slightly at the sound of that blasted title.

“ _Trevelyan_!” Cassandra grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him to a stop. “We should return to Haven, consider our options.”

“What options? The templars or the mages? The  _Chantry_?” Hawke jerked his arm out of her grip with a force she clearly hadn’t expected. “I’ve already said my piece on working with the templars. As for the Chantry, going to Val Royeaux is a waste of time.”

“Then we won’t go to Val Royeaux,” Cassandra said. “But we cannot simply brush aside the templars—”

“And why not? You think they’ll be any more favorable to us than the mages?”

“You haven’t even  _met_  the mages,” Cassandra said flatly.

“And yet they’re right here, while the templars aren’t.” Hawke’s mouth twisted, and he briefly closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a breath. When he met Cassandra’s eyes again, he was able to keep his tone even as he said, “I won’t go to the templars.”

“There is no guarantee that the mages will even agree to meet with you,” Cassandra said sharply.

“We won’t know unless we try, will we?” Hawke turned on his heel and walked away.

“We still need to discuss this with the others,” Cassandra said, catching up to walk besides Hawke. “We cannot simply walk into Redcliffe unarmed and unprepared.”

Hawke eyed her sword. “I didn’t know we were unarmed.”

“You know what I mean,” Cassandra snapped. “We cannot simply—” She cut herself off, inhaling sharply. A second later, in a calmer tone, she said, “This isn’t a decision we can make without consulting the others. If something goes wrong, they will have no idea what happened.”

“Then send a message.” Hawke paused to let a ram cross their path, then proceeded to head down the hill. After a moment’s thought, he added, “I understand that you want to consult the others, but it would be a waste of time to return to Haven and then come back to meet with the mages. We’re here, so why not?”

“I…” Cassandra blew out an irritated breath. “You have a point,” she admitted. “But Cullen will not be pleased.”

For the love of—

Why did  _he_  have to talk with everyone?

Hawke took several breaths, waiting until he was sure he could speak calmly. Cullen wasn’t Cassandra’s fault. “You can’t tell me that he doesn’t have a single in with the templars. He was one. If he so desperately wants the templars to join us, can’t he do it himself?”

“Please, no,” Anders muttered behind them.

Cassandra raised her eyebrows, looking slightly surprised. “Are you telling me that you want Cullen to talk with the templars?”

“If he wants it so badly, then he can do it. But I won’t.”

Tilting her head, Cassandra studied him for a long moment, easily keeping pace with his strides. Eventually, voice quiet, she said, “I don’t claim to understand your mistrust of the templars, but I cannot say that I entirely disagree. I will send the message and let them know that we will be seeking the mages out. Whether Cullen manages to contact the templars…” She shrugged.

Tension Hawke hadn’t even noticed seeped out of his muscles, and he let his head dip down in a nod. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me yet.” Cassandra grimaced. “It could very well be that the mages will refuse to help us and we will need to go to the templars.”

“What happened to having faith?”

“I find,” Cassandra said dryly, “that having faith only goes so far.”

“Nice,” Varric said a beat later. “I’m writing that down.”

“ _Varric_.”

“What? You can’t make this shit up.”

Turning his face away so Cassandra wouldn’t see his grin, Hawke continued onwards.

The sun was setting, and they still had a while to go.

* * *

“So you’re the Herald of Andraste, hm?”

Hawke slowly turned his head to pin Blackwall with an unimpressed stare. “No.”

Blackwall stared back. “No, you’re not the Herald?”

“You’re not calling me that.”

Blackwall eyed him curiously. “I take it you don’t like it?”

Hawke was unable to hide his grimace. “I don’t. I don’t know what happened in the Fade, but I do know it wasn’t  _Andraste_  that pulled me out.” If only because he was a mage.

“That’s what the rumors say.”

“The Inquisition apparently hasn’t been doing much to stop them.” Hawke glanced over his shoulder to where Cassandra was talking with some Inquisition agents and writing a letter. “And rumors have a life of their own.”

“Speaking from experience, are we?”

“Some,” Hawke admitted easily, shrugging loosely. “Not all of it personal.”

“It doesn’t have to be, does it?” Blackwall paused, considering. “For the record, I think you’re making a good decision seeking the mages out.”

Hawke didn’t quite manage to keep the surprise off his face. “Do you?”

“You’re right about the time,” Blackwall said. “I can’t say I know where the templars are, but the mages are here. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t, but at least you’ll have tried.”

“Good to know I’m not the only one who thinks that way.”

“Hm.” Blackwall turned to look back at Cassandra, who was now tying her letter to a raven’s leg. “If I’m reading her right, I’d say Seeker Cassandra agrees with you, even if she might not like it.”

“She hasn’t liked a lot of what I’ve done,” Hawke said dryly. “I’m a bit too much for her taste.”

“You’re a leader,” Blackwall said confidently.

“You’ve known me all of five minutes and you can say that?”

“I’ve seen enough.” Blackwall’s eyes were serious. “Enough to know that you’ll make the decisions you need to.” He clapped Hawke on the shoulder, the beard not quite hiding his smile. “It’ll turn out, Trevelyan.”

Blackwall’s vote of confidence wasn’t as reassuring as he had probably intended it to be, primarily because he  _didn’t_  know Hawke. He didn’t know Hawke’s history and how he had failed when it had been so important he hold it together.

Make the decisions he needed to?

Hawke had never done that. Every time he’d made a decision, it had been because he’d been backed into a corner. And the one decision he  _had_  made of his own choice had resulted in the chaos around them. Even if Anders had had a hand in it as well.

As if called, Anders stepped next to him, close enough that their elbows brushed against each other. “Something on your mind?”

“Always.” Hawke glanced at him, the sight of Anders bringing an easy smile to his lips. He wanted to touch him, but now wasn’t the best time, even with the night’s shadows making it easier to hide. “What do you think of Warden Blackwall?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“He’s…not quite what I expected.” Anders sounded darkly amused. “A bit more idealistic than any Warden I’ve met before.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s unusual.” Anders gave him a lopsided smile, but there was something dark in his eyes that Hawke didn’t like. “And it’s…” He sighed, pinching his nose. “It’s a little difficult to tell with the Calling. I can’t feel him like I usually can with others.”

Hawke pinched his lips together, holding back the words that wanted to escape. Blackwall wasn’t hearing it.

Anders apparently didn’t share the same qualms. “He should be hearing it. I don’t know why he isn’t.”

“He could be lying.”

“He could.” Anders dropped his hand, giving Hawke a weary smile. Whatever had lurked in his eyes before was gone now. “Wardens like their secrets.”

Hawke’s lips twitched. “Which is why you handed over the maps.”

Anders snorted, eyes crinkling. “I’m not the average Warden, love.” The words were a low murmur, meant only for Hawke’s ears.

Hawke ducked his head, grinning helplessly. His chest heated at the warmth in Anders’s words, as it usually did whenever Anders called him that.

“I don’t think we need to all pile in one tent tonight,” Anders said after a moment, shuffling to the side to put some distance between them. He had a rueful smile. “Blackwall is a rather large man.”

“Are you calling him fat?”

“Sturdy,” Anders said blandly, though the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

Hawke didn’t resist the urge to touch this time, although he limited it to Anders’s shoulder. “That’s one way to put it,” he said lightly. “I would’ve said muscular.”

“It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

They came closer to camp and the fire someone had lit. Someone had also conveniently left a space open for two people to sit, and it was right by Varric.

Giving Varric a thankful nod, Hawke sat next to him, leaving enough space for Anders.

The dark gave them enough privacy for Hawke to link their fingers together where no one could see. It wasn’t enough, but it would do for now.

* * *

_“What are you doing here?”_

_Despite his tone’s flatness, Carver didn’t flinch. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. “I’m here to talk to you.”_

_He turned away, staring out over the waters and to the Gallows in the distance. “Didn’t we already talk?”_

_“I…” Carver exhaled, the sound nothing but frustration. “I didn’t mean for it to go like that. I was just…frustrated.”_

_“Join the party.”_

_“Brother.” Carver’s tone wasn’t amused._

_“What?” He couldn’t keep the sharp note out of his voice, nor the slight tinge of hurt. This time when he looked at Carver, he forced himself to really take in the templar armor that he was wearing. It made him even queasier than he usually felt now. “Should you really be associating yourself with me?”_

_“Why shouldn’t I?” Carver’s face was carefully blank. “You’re my brother. The Order still allows for family.”_

_His lips twisted, and he turned away. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d care considering why you joined the Order in the first place.”_

_“I said it all wrong,” Carver burst out, taking hold of his arm with an unfamiliar hand that had his skin **crawling**._

_“Don’t—” He jerked his arm out of Carver’s hold, resisting the urge to rub at it._

_Carver’s eyes pinched, but he didn’t show any other sign of emotion, continuing to speak. “Back with Mother…I said it wrong. I didn’t…you have no idea how it feels to be constantly in your shadow. Always compared to my **brother** , who’s so much better at everything. I’m not even Carver Hawke – I’m just the spare that people have to include because there’s no other choice.”_

_He didn’t know what to say, but he thought something **should**  be said. “Carver—”_

_“No, don’t. Let me finish.” Carver was frowning, his jaw set in a mulish line. “I know I’m not Bethany. I **know**  I can’t understand what it’s like for you. And I…” He breathed in shakily, closing his eyes as his forehead wrinkled. “I know what I have to do,” he continued steadily. “It’s what I’ve always done, but I can’t…it’s difficult doing it here. No one’s found out yet, but how long was it going to last with just the two of us?”_

_“You know I can hide,” he said, looking at Carver’s side profile. Unlike Merrill and Anders, he didn’t carry a staff around. He’d insisted on them making their staffs less conspicuous, adding blades to the ends so they’d look less flashy, but it was still dreadfully obvious._

_Carver tilted his head, eyes flicking to the side to meet his own. “But your friends? Merrill’s scatterbrained, and Anders doesn’t seem to have any self-preservation instincts.” There was no recrimination in his tone. “I can watch your back, but how can I watch theirs?”_

_“You don’t have to—”_

_“They’re your friends. If I didn’t, and something happened…” Carver shook his head and turned to face him head on. “There are too many templars here. We stayed because of Mother, but…” He shrugged, the armor clinking with the movement. “I should have said something, but you would have told me not to do it. But I…” His face twisted, eyes dropping to the ground. “I wanted to do something for **me**.”_

_He could understand that, but it was just… “A **templar** , Carver?”_

_“A templar helped Father escape,” Carver snapped, eyes flying up. “I was **named**  after a templar. They can’t all be bad! Besides, no one there knows who you are. They only know  **me**. And I’m not going to tell them anything. Did you really think I would?”_

_“I didn’t know **what**  you would do, Carver.” But Carver looked rather stricken at the words, so he forced a gentler tone. “I never thought my brother would become a templar.”_

_“It doesn’t mean I’m one of **them** ,” Carver said, eyes wide. “You’re still my brother. I’m still supposed to protect you—”_

_“You’re not supposed to **protect**  me—”_

_“Aren’t I?” Carver threw his hands up. “Wasn’t that what Father told me to do? Protect you and Bethany? Make sure you two were safe?”_

_“That’s what he told me,” he said, throat thick. “I’m the oldest. I’m supposed to look after you – both of you.” He swallowed. “And I didn’t.”_

_“You’re right.” Even though the words were true, it still hurt to hear. “You failed Bethany. You could’ve done something. It was your job, and you didn’t do it. And now she’s dead.” Carver’s lips thinned. “And you don’t need me. You just…fade into the background. Somehow. Even though everyone’s eyes are on you.”_

_“I don’t,” he said helplessly, not sure what his brother was saying._

_“You do.” Carver’s smile was bitter. “There were times where I thought the templars would see you and what you can do. Because surely they can sense it, can’t they? But they never did. You just slipped by them with a wink and they don’t even notice. And now I’m standing here, and **I’m a templar** , and I can’t tell what you are even though I  **know**. So you don’t need me to watch your back here.”_

_“So what?”_

_“So I’m doing what I can, the way **I**  want.” Carver paused, eyes turning hard. “Because this is for me, and you’ve nothing to do with it. They don’t know you. All they see…is me. And that’s who they’ll get.”_

_“You told me you said the wrong things with Mother, but all I’m hearing is that you’re trying to get back at me for what’s happened. You don’t need to prove anything.”_

_“I do,” Carver said, and his tone was hard in a way that said this conversation was over, “because you wouldn’t have said that otherwise.”_

_The last thing he saw of Carver as he rowed back to the Gallows was his armor glinting in the moonlight. He could have pretended it was just armor, but the blighted cross on the chest made it impossible._

_In that moment, standing on the docks and watching his brother row away from him, suffocated by the nauseating feel of the Fade and his magic burning under his skin, he felt so very alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carver and Hawke have _such_ a complicated relationship. And I've really enjoyed playing with it. Also Anders and Hawke? I love their relationship, too.
> 
> More things are changing! :D Guess who's going to see the mages?
> 
> Feedback is very appreciated! <3


	6. Hinterlands III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the chapter where things really start picking up. Guess what party character shows up in this one? ~~Maybe that question is too easy...~~

_“You must have better things to do than spend time down here.”_

_“Spend time in the sewers of Kirkwall? Absolutely. Spend time with you?” He managed a grin. “No.”_

_Anders shot him a skeptical look, winding up a roll of bandages. “There’s nothing to do down here,” he said. “And you’re not a healer.”_

_What was a line he’d heard others use? “I could do you.”_

_A red flush painted Anders’s cheeks, his eyes skittering away. “Yes, well…” He coughed. “That wouldn’t be advisable down here.”_

_Given the general conditions of Darktown, that was clear. But then it wasn’t the best place for a healer’s clinic either._

_He spent a few more minutes watching Anders organize his supplies, helping where he could, and trying to figure out how to ask what he wanted to. If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t be so difficult._

_But Anders was…well… It was difficult to speak clearly around him._

_It hadn’t always been like that (he steadfastly refused to think about what he had said after the Chantry), but it had grown worse as he spent more time with Anders. He was just so… **charming**. And warm._

_He’d been unable to stay away, and now he was reduced to this._

_“I was…” He paused, rubbing a hand over his mouth. It didn’t help that Anders was looking at him now. “I was just…”_

_Anders didn’t push him, patiently waiting as he looked through his herbal supplies._

_“Healing,” he managed finally, and **no** , that wasn’t an explanation at all._

_Anders didn’t seem to notice his flailing. “Yes?”_

_“I want to learn.” That just sounded **rude** , and he hurried on before Anders could say anything. “If you’d teach me.”_

_“You…want me to teach you healing?” Anders looked rather like he couldn’t believe him._

_Swallowing, he nodded, keeping a slight smile on his face, hoping it didn’t look as nervous as he felt. “Yes.”_

_“You want to spend more time down here?” Anders tilted his head. “Even I don’t like it, but this is where most people need help.”_

_“I want to spend time with you,” he said without thinking, voice soft._

_Anders ducked his head, and there was a slight reddish tinge to his cheeks. “All right.” There was a shy but sweet smile on his face that had his heart skipping a beat. “I can’t promise I’ll be any good.”_

_“It’s you,” he said, grinning giddily. “You’ll be great.”_

_He thought Anders’s smile could light up the world, and the taste of the Fade on his tongue was bright._

* * *

He couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. and it should be  _easier_  now since it was just Varric in their tent, but he just…couldn’t.

Slowly disentangling himself from Anders, Hawke pulled on his boots and slipped outside, breathing in the cool air. He nodded at the alert Inquisition agents keeping watch for them, and then slid into the shadows to take some privacy.

Sitting on a stone fence, Hawke folded one leg under him, dangling the other over the edge. There wasn’t anything to see beyond rolling fields and trees, and his eyes weren’t sharp enough to pierce the darkness.

After a moment, Hawke turned his left hand up, pulling on the magic to let the green flare to life. And then he just…let it sit, fingers twitching as the magic tingled over his nerves in a sensation similar to dunking his hand in a freezing cold snowdrift.

He felt like he could see into the Fade if he tried hard enough, but he wasn’t entirely sure if that was wise.

Probably not.

Hawke pressed his fingers to the mark, and then nearly fell off the fence as his magic surged forwards. Yanking his fingers away, Hawke let the mark go dormant, focusing on breathing and letting his magic settle.

Perhaps touching a piece of the Fade wasn’t the best idea.

 _But_ …

Hawke tried again, this time more cautiously. He was prepared for his magic coming forward now, and he let it, only this time he pulled at the mark.

He’d just managed to tease out a tendril of it to cup in his right hand when Solas’s voice sounded behind him. “I’m not entirely sure that is a wise idea.”

Startled, the magic slipped from Hawke’s grasp, and he only just managed to catch it before it could go flying off somewhere to do whatever it wanted. He crammed it back in the mark without thinking, turning to look at Solas. “What part about playing with unknown magic is wise?” He pressed his palm to his leg, breathing in as he let the magic go entirely. “But it’s in my hand, so I’m going to learn it.”

“Admirable,” Solas said, sitting besides Hawke. “If perhaps foolish.”

“Wouldn’t be the most foolish decision I’ve made.” Hawke tapped his heel against the stone, swinging his leg back and forth. “Why are you awake?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Touché.” Hawke’s lips quirked into a small smile that Solas could probably see even in the dark. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Any reason in particular?”

Hawke shrugged in lieu of an answer. “Any reason you’re out here?”

“A mere coincidence,” Solas assured him. “But I saw the light and thought it might be you. And if not, camping near a rift wouldn’t be advisable.”

If a rift had suddenly opened and he was asleep, Hawke would probably have set the tent on fire or something.

Several minutes passed silently, neither speaking. Hawke closed his eyes, listening to the wind and the rustling of the branches. Occasionally he could hear some faint noises that were probably from the rams and fennecs that inhabited the Hinterlands.

“There is a spirit in your friend.”

Hawke’s eyes snapped open, his head jerking to turn to Solas, but there was no reading his expression. “What?”

“He isn’t an abomination,” Solas said, surprising Hawke. “But it is more than the symbiotic relationship between a spirit healer and the spirit they work with.”

“I’m surprised you’re talking to me about it,” Hawke said, the words clipped. “Rather than telling Cassandra about him.”

“He’s your friend, is he not?” Solas tilted his head. “If you didn’t know, I thought you should. But I see that you already did.”

“He’s my friend.” Hawke fixed Solas with a narrow-eyed gaze. “But he isn’t yours. So why haven’t you told Cassandra?”

“It would be rather hypocritical of me if I did. Most of my friends are spirits.”

Hawke almost asked how this was possible before remembering Solas was a Dreamer. “Don’t demons usually try to possess Dreamers?”

“I learned how to defend myself against more aggressive spirits,” Solas said, “or the ‘demons’ that you identify. I also learned how to safely interact with friendlier spirits. In doing so, I was able to form fast friendships. Spirits have a great deal of knowledge to offer if you know what to ask for.”

“And you did.”

“I learned. What is important to remember is that the Fade reflects the minds of the living. If you expect a spirit to be something other than it is, then it will adapt. If you expect a spirit of wisdom to be a pride demon or a spirit of purpose to be desire, then they will become so. But if your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the spirit’s nature? Then you can be fast friends.”

Hawke frowned, resisting the urge to look back to the camp. “It can’t be so  _simple_.”

“Does it seem simple?” Solas paused, considering. “Perhaps it isn’t, but it seems so for me.”

It didn’t make sense, but then a lot Hawke did didn’t make sense to the average mage. “Even so, most people who know insist he’s an abomination.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I know what abominations look like.” Hawke had seen them all too often in Kirkwall. “I’ve seen them before. They…don’t look human.” It wasn’t entirely true, as he’d met mages who were full-fledged abominations who still looked as human as Anders. But they’d also… _felt_  different and looked darker to his eyes.

Solas didn’t need to know that.

“They certainly don’t,” Solas agreed. “Your friend is something other than human, however. The spirit in him is too closely intertwined to make him anything but.”

“I…” Hawke closed his eyes, that first image of  _Anders_  coming to mind. So bright and unlike anything he’d seen before. “Well…” He managed a small smile. “He’s still him.”

“As far as you know, yes.” Solas didn’t elaborate on what he meant. “When did you meet him?”

“Some years ago.” Hawke considered exactly how much to tell Solas. “The spirit…he’s had it as long as I’ve known him.”

Solas glanced askance at him. “Yet you are friends with him nonetheless?”

“You might have missed it, but I don’t exactly agree with the Chantry on a lot of things.” Hawke’s grin was sharp. “He and I…we have an agreement.”

Even if it wasn’t one that he would  _keep_. Not unless he absolutely had to.

“Wise,” Solas noted, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “I must confess to some surprise. Most mages I know are not as open-minded.”

“Don’t you mean most  _people_?” Hawke sighed a moment later, shaking his head. Even his friends… But then none could see what he could. “I would have thought the same of you.”

“I am not most people.”

“No.” Hawke tilted his head, taking in the presence of the Fade around Solas. It was unusual, something he hadn’t seen with any other mage. Even his father and Bethany hadn’t looked like Solas. “I suppose not.” He smiled wryly. “Most people certainly wouldn’t make friends with spirits.”

“I don’t ascribe to the Chantry’s teachings, nor do I ascribe to the Dalish’s,” Solas said. “They are limited and close-minded. Truth be told, anyone who tries can become friends with spirits, but few do.”

“Most people fear what they can’t understand,” Hawke said.

“Yes,” Solas said quietly, “they do. Where do you stand?”

This question was easy enough. “I’ve had enough of fear.” Hawke dropped his eyes to his hands. “But that said, I don’t fancy being possessed by a demon because I tried making friends with it.”

“There is a difference between making friends with a spirit and accepting it into your body. Expect it to be a demon, and it shall be. Expect a spirit, and it will be one. I’ve no doubt you can determine which spirits are aggressive and which aren’t.”

“Hm.” Hawke wasn’t entirely sure of that, but he could give it a try. Demons did have a different look about them than the average spirit, and he’d seen enough of them to be able to tell them apart from a spirit like Justice. “I’ll have to think on that.”

“Naturally.” Solas inclined his head. “Thank you for listening.”

“Thanks for not telling Cassandra. She would’ve tried to kill him, and that wouldn’t have been a good idea.”

“Tried?”

Hawke gave him a flat look. “She would have to go through me. And that’s if he doesn’t kill her first.”

Solas didn’t say anything for a long moment, studying Hawke intently. Eventually, his tone soft, he said, “He’s fortunate to have you as a friend.”

 _Not just a friend,_  Hawke didn’t say, dropping his gaze.

“Good night,” Solas said after another moment. “I trust you’ll try to get some sleep.”

Hawke didn’t answer as Solas left, mind buzzing. He wasn’t entirely sure that he believed everything Solas had told him, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

Looking back down at the mark on his hand, Hawke pulled it back to life, folding his other hand over it to hide the light from prying eyes.

He could get sleep later. For now, he wanted to see what else he could do with the mark.

* * *

When morning dawned, Hawke actually had managed to get some sleep. Largely due to Anders, as he had sought Hawke out and pulled him back to the tent. Hawke hadn’t been able to fall asleep immediately, but Anders had been rather persuasive.

He was relatively sure Varric had been asleep, but the  _looks_  he was shooting them probably meant he’d heard something.

Not that they’d done anything other than kissing. Neither really wanted to do anything more with so little privacy.

“We’ll drop the supplies we’ve found and then make our way to Redcliffe,” Cassandra said once everyone had their supplies together. “Maker willing, it will work out.” She looked at Hawke. “I’ve sent a message to Haven, so they are aware of our plans.”

“All right.” Hawke kept his face blank, briefly checking the edge of his dagger.

Anders’s hood was up, and with the green shade of his clothing he blended in with his surroundings. He gave Hawke an amused smile when he caught him looking, eyes hidden in shadow.

They found the way to Redcliffe easily enough, even with the occasional antagonistic mage or templar barring their way. A few mages fled upon seeing them, leaving behind glowing glyphs that they carefully sidestepped.

Soon enough, they came within sight of the wall that bordered Redcliffe Village.

Hawke took the sight in. It was one that he hadn’t seen in years, and his memories of the last time he’d seen the village were fuzzy at best.

His mark flared, tingles running through his hand and jolting up his arm that had him flinching, and then everything just… _sped up_.

Looking up, Hawke saw a rift over his head that certainly hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. It was spitting out demons, but everything seemed to be a blur to his eyes. His senses were going haywire, not quite making sense of what was happening around him.

His stomach roiled with the sensation, and Hawke shifted, moving back.

There was a sharp stabbing pain in his midsection, and Hawke barely had time to retaliate with a swipe of his dagger before he was thrown to the side, hitting the ground hard.

The world spun back into normal speed, and his senses were set askew again. This time he could more easily sense that something wasn’t  _right_. The world around him seemed to be tearing itself apart to go forward and back and he was caught in the middle.

Hawke stumbled to his feet, regretted it when his stomach roiled dangerously with the motion, and flung his hand up, blindly pulling at the rift and tying it closed. It worked faster than before, and it shut practically instantly.

The remaining demons shrieked in agony, their piercing voices hurting Hawke’s head, and he had enough time to stagger sideways into the trees before emptying his stomach.

 _Ow_.

He hadn’t even realized he was bleeding.

“H-Trevelyan!” Anders was at his side an instant later, kneeling and bracing a hand on his back before healing his wound. “Are you all right?”

Heaving once more, Hawke closed his eyes and covered his mouth with a hand, bidding his senses to  _quiet_. It was all right. The rift was closed.

“What in the Void was that?” Blackwall asked, loud enough for Hawke to hear him.

“I don’t know,” Solas answered. “But that was no ordinary rift.”

“No other rift has opened right by us.” Cassandra sounded perturbed.

“Not just that, but did you see what it did?” Varric sounded both perturbed and agitated. “Hey, Cousland. How’s he doing?”

“He’ll be fine,” Anders said, sounding distracted. He moved the hand on Hawke’s back to his neck, squeezing it gently.

“Yeah? Throwing up’s a little unusual.”

“I’m fine,” Hawke managed, covering Anders’s hand on his stomach with his own. “Just…a little disoriented.”

“You were moving so slowly,” Anders said quietly. “It was as if you were fighting a paralysis glyph.”

“You were all too fast.” Hawke focused on his breathing for several more seconds, glad when his stomach seemed to have settled. He dropped his voice. “It…didn’t feel right.”

Anders stilled, his fingers light on the back of Hawke’s neck. “Yes,” he murmured, the light of the Fade around him brightening. “You’re right.”

“Are you well?” Cassandra asked, dropping to a knee on Hawke’s other side. “We can return if need be.”

“I’m fine,” Hawke repeated, louder this time. This time getting to his feet was a much smoother endeavor. “But if we can avoid running into anymore of those types of rifts, that would be lovely.”

“Yeah, but what  _was_  that rift?” Varric shot a glance back to where it had popped into life.

“I don’t know.” Hawke stepped out of the trees, warily eyeing the path to Redcliffe. He couldn’t sense any other rifts, but then he hadn’t sensed this one until it actually formed. “But we can figure that out later.”

“If you’re certain,” Cassandra said slowly, eyeing him in concern.

“I am.” Hawke gave her a brief smile in thanks before continuing down to Redcliffe.

It was quiet. Hawke would have expected guards or something else on the walls or outside the village, but there was no one visible until he came closer to the gate. It was down, and there were guards on the inside watching for visitors.

They visibly stiffened upon seeing them come up the path, but they didn’t do anything other than lay their hands on their weapons.

“State your business!” one said the moment they were within earshot, her voice wavering only slightly.

“We mean no harm,” Hawke said, coming to a stop just before the closed gate. “Is it possible that we can enter the village? We would like to speak with the mages.”

“We’re not allowing anymore travelers,” the second guard said, her voice firm. “Under orders of Bann Teagan and Grand Enchanter Fiona.”

“We’re not staying,” Hawke said. “Is there some way to send a message to the Grand Enchanter?”

“If every person who wanted to speak to the Grand Enchanter got their way, she’d never get any work done,” the second guard said sharply. “The gates are closed, and we aren’t accepting any visitors. Last time we did, the bloody mages blew the bridge up.”

“How terribly inconsiderate.”

“It was,” the first guard agreed, not seeming to catch Hawke’s sarcasm.

The second guard shot the first a reproving glare. “We’re certainly not taking in those who aren’t mages. You could be templars.”

“I’m a mage,” Anders said, holding his hand up to light a small flame at the tip of his finger.

“We are not templars,” Cassandra said. “We are with the Inquisition.”

The second guard didn’t seem impressed. “Good as templars then, aren’t you? You’re in with the Chantry.”

“No, we’re not,” Hawke said curtly, and the first guard visibly flinched, armor clanking.

“Tone it down a little,” Varric muttered, nudging Hawke’s side.

“It doesn’t matter,” the second guard said, fixing Hawke with an unimpressed stare. “No one’s coming in, and it’s staying that way.”

“You won’t even send a message?” Cassandra asked incredulously.

The second guard shook her head sharply. “You don’t have any authority here,  _Inquisition_. There’s no reason for Grand Enchanter Fiona or Bann Teagan to indulge your whims, so why don’t you go and trouble someone else?”

“You—”

Hawke laid a hand on her shoulder, cutting her off. “Cassandra. Let’s go.”

For a second it seemed like Cassandra would snap at him, her eyebrows raised in disbelief, but she eventually just nodded and gave the two guards one last disgusted look.

It wasn’t until they were far enough from the gates that the guards wouldn’t overhear that she snapped at him. “After all that you just walked away? Have you decided that you want to return to Haven after all?”

“Of course not.” Hawke turned towards the stone wall surrounding Redcliffe, evaluating it speculatively. “If they won’t let us in through the front gate, we can go in the back way.”

“Redcliffe doesn’t have another entrance.”

“That’s never stopped me before.” Hawke climbed up some rocks and jogged over to a steep rock face that joined with Redcliffe’s wall. It was out of sight of the gate, which made it opportune for his next move.

“You’re not climbing it,” Anders said.

“I’m climbing it.”

“You’re  _not_.”

Hawke shot him a look and then proceeded to begin hauling himself up.

“Have you done this before?” Cassandra sounded suspicious.

“My line of work generally involves finding creative solutions.”

“What  _is_  your line of work?”

“Whatever pays,” Hawke responded cheerfully, almost to the top. “Anyone joining me? It’d help to have a second pair of eyes.”

“I’m a dwarf,” Varric griped just loud enough for Hawke to hear him. “Not a  _rock climber_.”

“You’re still climbing it,” Anders said dryly.

Hawke pulled himself over the edge, rolling over until he was on relatively stable ground. Peering over the edge, he could see Varric slowly edging his way up.

“Because I’m a dwarf.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Blackwall said slowly.

“Much of what he says makes no sense,” Solas said.

Varric was making his way up faster than Hawke had, throwing over his shoulder an absentminded, “That hurts, Chuckles.”

“Keep watch,” Hawke called down to the others, helping Varric up the last few feet. “We won’t be long.”

Varric wiped his gloves off, smirking at Hawke. “Just like old times, eh?”

Hawke smirked back. “Right down to the sneaking around.”

“It almost makes me nostalgic for the good old days.”

It really did, although at least it didn’t feel like Kirkwall.

* * *

It didn’t take Varric and Hawke long to scout out a location where they could make a discreet entry into Redcliffe and head back to the others. They agreed to wait until nightfall, when there was less likelihood of being caught and arrested.

It was probably likely that they’d be found out anyway, but Hawke was relatively good at going unnoticed. Especially if no one was actually looking for him or knew his face.

“Leliana will never let me live this down,” Cassandra muttered, looking warily over her shoulders for any unsuspecting newcomers.

“Relax.” Hawke inspected the wall they were going to make an entrance through, testing the stability of the stones. “They can smell fear.”

“That wasn’t funny.”

“I must be losing my charm.”

“You’re not making a hole here,” Blackwall said uncertainly. “That would be too loud.”

“Not like this, no.” Hawke took a step back, craning his head back to eyeball the distance. “Varric?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Varric hefted Bianca up, letting the grappling arrow loose a second later. The hook clattered loudly against the wall, but there didn’t seem to be any reaction from the villagers.

“This makes me uncomfortable,” Cassandra said for the fifth time since they had suggested this plan.

“Noted and ignored.” Hawke tugged on the line, made sure it would hold, and then began climbing. It wasn’t long before he was able to swing his legs up on the ledge, holding tightly to the edges of the wall as he carefully turned around. There was nothing at the bottom that he could accidentally land on, so that was fine.

With a slow exhale, Hawke let himself drop, transitioning into a gentle roll to take the impact off his ankles.

There was no one around that Hawke could see or hear, but the sounds of the waves made it difficult to hear much of anything. The lake was not even fifteen feet to the right of him, with a rather sheer drop to the waters below. Yet it was a rather isolated part of Redcliffe, so it wasn’t incredibly likely that people were here.

It meant that it would be all the easier for them to make a hole to get through.

He lobbed his bag over the wall as a signal for “all clear.”

It was only moments before the stones began glowing a hot red. A few seconds later, they froze through. They warmed and froze two more times before Hawke stepped to the side as Cassandra and Blackwall kicked through the weakened stones.

“Your bag,” Varric said when he came through last.

Hawke hitched his bag back on his belt, evaluating the hole they’d made in the wall.

“I’ve something I can use to hide it,” Anders said slowly, shooting Hawke a sidelong look. It was difficult to tell given his hood, but he was raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

“All right.” Hawke inclined his head, taking a step back and closing his eyes. With a slow exhale, he pulled on his mana and breathed the spell to life. Once he was certain the spell was in place, he opened his eyes and inspected his handiwork.

The unusual glyphs flickered to life, glowing briefly before fading.

“What was that?” Cassandra asked, blinking furiously. “I know something is there, but I can’t see it.”

“A little something I came up with,” Anders said nonchalantly, shrugging. “Useful for an apostate.”

“It’s a remarkable spell,” Solas murmured, eyeing the area inquisitively. He didn’t seem as nonplussed as Cassandra and Blackwall, seeming as placid as always.

Anders shrugged again, this time not meeting anyone’s eyes.

It wasn’t even technically Hawke’s spell, but more a creation he and his father had come up with when he’d been learning how to use his magic. Hide-and-seek was quite different when one was a mage, and Hawke had always been competitive.

In silent agreement, they began moving away from the lake and into Redcliffe. The village looked different from what Hawke remembered, but then everything looked different at night.

The Chantry was further away from the village than he remembered, but it looked less imposing than his hazy memories suggested. It was large, but there wasn’t that frisson of fear that had always skittered through him before whenever he saw it.

_He hated walking by the Chantry. It looked like it was looming threateningly over him, telling him that he was wrong, that his magic was bad, that he shouldn’t be free but locked up in a Circle—_

Blinking, Hawke shook his head, intending on turning away from the Chantry and into the village. Yet before he could, the mark flared into life, and the Fade tugged at his awareness as he felt a rift tear into existence. A rift that felt like the one earlier.

“Where’s the rift?” Varric demanded, hefting Bianca up.

Hawke didn’t wait, already moving up the stairs. “The Chantry.”

He barely reached the doors before they burst open, someone staggering out and slamming them shut.

Hawke had enough time to take in the man’s appearance – evaluating his dark skin, clothes, the neatly groomed mustache, the staff in his hand – before the man caught sight of him and his companions.

“Who are you?” The man spoke with a Tevinter accent, surprising Hawke. “I haven’t seen you around –  _fasta vass_!” His eyes were on Hawke’s glowing hand. “You’re the Herald, aren’t you? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Hawke said slowly. For being a Tevinter mage, the man wasn’t a blood mage. The Fade hugged to him as closely as it did to any other mage that didn’t use blood magic.

“Never mind me! Are you here to close the blighted rift that suddenly decided to pop into life over my head?”

“I rather thought I’d sell some leaflets promoting the rebel mages.”

“Oh, a comedian. This should be good.” The man stepped forwards and behind Hawke. “After you, Herald.”

Hawke gave him a disgusted look and pulled the doors open. There were several seconds of stillness, and then the wraiths floating in the Chantry attacked.

Ducking and rolling to the side, Hawke narrowly missed a swirling circle of odd-colored magic that made his stomach roil unpleasantly. He didn’t pay it any attention except to avoid it, focus on the rift hovering in midair.

A few seconds after pulling at it with the mark, it snapped shut, and the wraith that had been about to attack him from behind disappeared with a flail. The other demons weren’t as inclined to disappear, but Cassandra and Blackwall made quick work of them.

The unknown mage blasted the last one with fire, turning to Hawke with bright eyes.

“Fascinating!” he exclaimed, eyes dropping to Hawke’s hand. “How does that work?”

Hawke hesitated, not quite sure how to explain it. It didn’t really make sense for a non-mage to feel it this way, did it?

The man took his silence the wrong way, swinging his staff on his back. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wave your hand and voila! It’s done.” He sounded both amused and wondering.

“It’s what works,” Hawke said eventually, folding his arms. “Who are you?”

“Ah. Getting ahead of myself again, I see.” The man straightened. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minranthous.” He bowed slightly. “How do you do?”

“You’re from Tevinter,” Anders said flatly.

“Yeeesss.” Dorian switched his focus to Anders. “Suspicious, aren’t you?”

“With good reason,” Anders said. “No one from Tevinter’s ever been friendly.”

Hawke looked askance at Anders, eyebrows raised. Anders returned the look, frowning.

Hawke shrugged and shook his head minutely, wiggling his fingers where the others couldn’t see, arms still folded over his chest. Anders seemed highly skeptical, but he did study Dorian with something more akin to intrigue than animosity.

“Now that’s just rude,” Varric said. “I happen to know an elf from Tevinter. He was broody and rude but friendly once you unpeeled the outer layer.”

“Did you mean to make him sound like an onion?” Blackwall asked.

Varric smirked at him. “I wasn’t sure if it worked.”

Hawke ignored the byplay. “Why is a mage from Tevinter here?”

“I assure you it wasn’t for any nefarious reasons,” Dorian said. “I was in the Free Marches when I joined a band of mages coming into Ferelden. They eventually wound up here, and here I am.” He spread his arms, shrugging loosely. “But I’m not the only Tevinter mage here anymore.”

“You’re not?” Cassandra sounded slightly alarmed.

“My former mentor, Magister Alexius, arrived here a day ago.” Dorian’s lips twisted. “Which is surprising seeing as I had no idea he was even interested in the rebellion you have down here or even knew that they were here, since they made this their base several days ago. And it takes a great deal of time to travel from Tevinter to here. I should know, as I did it.”

Hawke frowned. “What use would a Tevinter magister have with the rebellion?”

“It certainly isn’t out of the goodness of his heart,” Dorian said. “As it is, I wouldn’t have suspected anything, but his son found me. You just missed him, in fact. He left shortly before the rift decided to appear.” He glanced at a door to the side before meeting Hawke’s eyes again. “Felix told me his father joined a Tevinter cult of supremacists calling themselves ‘Venatori.’”

“That’s not surprising at all,” Anders said dryly.

“No?” Dorian raised his eyebrows. “If you don’t think that’s odd, how about this? You don’t think it’s strange how Alexius reached Redcliffe before the Inquisition did? As if by magic? Even though he should still have been in Tevinter when they settled here?”

“You can’t teleport by magic,” Anders said. “I’ve tried.”

“Really? You’ll have to tell me more about that.” Dorian looked back to Hawke, turning serious again. “He turned back time to come here before you.”

“That’s – that’s ridiculous.” His voice sounded weak even to his own ears, the sudden sense of nausea coming back in full force. “You can’t  _turn back time_.”

“That is fascinating, if true…” Solas sounded intrigued. “And almost certainly dangerous.”

“You saw the rift here, didn’t you?” Dorian asked. “You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon, there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe.”

“That explains the rift we encountered on the way here,” Cassandra said, glancing at Hawke, who swallowed.

Dorian nodded grimly. “The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

“I’d call bullshit,” Varric said, “but I’ve seen too much weird shit.”

What Dorian was saying sounded absolutely ridiculous. If Hawke had been anyone else, he would have brushed it off. But…

There was something  _wrong_  here. He wasn’t entirely sure what, but the Fade around him tugged at him unfamiliarly. It felt disjointed, as if it wasn’t quite  _here_.

“How do you know so much about this magic?” Hawke asked eventually.

“Because I helped develop it.” Dorian’s face was hard. “I told you he was my mentor, didn’t I? When I was his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. I wouldn’t have expected him to use it for this, which is why I didn’t suspect anything until I spoke to Felix.”

Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “You would trust the word of the magister’s son?”

“I know him,” Dorian said simply. “Not like I know Alexius, but I know him. He told me that his father’s doing this to get to the Herald, which would be you. And now you’re here and you nearly walked into his trap.” His face brightened. “How  _did_  you get past the guards? They weren’t letting anyone in after someone blew the bridge up.”

“We didn’t,” Hawke said, smirking slightly. “But we have our ways.”

“Must you be so dramatic?” Cassandra sounded pained.

Hawke glanced at her, grinning. “It’s where I get my fun.”

“You get it other ways as well,” Anders quipped, smiling slyly.

“What trap?” Varric said abruptly, looking hard at Dorian.

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Dorian shrugged apologetically. “Felix doesn’t know much about these Venatori, seeing as how they’re relatively new in Tevinter. I certainly haven’t heard of them before, so I have no idea what they’re working towards. It’s possible they want you for the mark on your hand and for what it can do to the Breach.” He paused. “It  _does_  affect the hole in the sky, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a work in progress,” Hawke said. “As for this trap, we really don’t have a choice. We need to speak to Fiona, preferably before she does whatever Alexius wants her to.”

“You’re in luck then.” Dorian’s grin was bright. “Alexius came yesterday with his proposal, but they haven’t yet agreed to anything. Despite his use of time magic, he was still late. Ha!” He laughed, shaking his head.

“None of this helps us if we can’t find the Grand Enchanter,” Cassandra said, eyes on Hawke. “You heard the guards. We cannot simply walk up to her.”

“Finding her is another question,” Blackwall added, “especially in a village this size.”

“I suppose this is your lucky night,” Dorian said. “As it so happens, I know someone who can get you an audience. He’s a rather open-minded fellow, seeing as how he didn’t throw me out upon hearing my rather fetching accent, and he and Fiona speak frequently. I also know he isn’t happy about the Tevinters.” He gave Hawke a small half-smile. “He’ll help you with this.”

That a Tevinter mage wouldn’t use blood magic  _and_  would be so helpful was surprising. There had to be some sort of catch to this, but Dorian oozed sincerity. The Fade was bright around him, but that didn’t necessarily  _mean_  anything. There were also wisps clinging to his clothes, winking in and out of Hawke’s vision.

One stopped and seemed to wave at him, twinkling brightly before darting behind Dorian’s legs, and Hawke figured that if Dorian could attract such harmless and friendly spirits, then he couldn’t be that terrible.

Besides, he didn’t have a great many options here.

“All right,” Hawke said finally, nodding. Then, thinking, he paused, eyes flicking to Cassandra. “You don’t want to go back to Haven, do you?” He couldn’t keep a sardonic lilt out of his tone.

“ _No_.” Cassandra shot him a disbelieving look. “This isn’t hypothetical anymore, Trevelyan. We have a foreign power on our doorstep, and it’s because of your insistence that we’re even here in time to stop this.” She raised her chin, the corner of her lips ticking up in a small smile. “I have faith we can do this.”

Maybe it shouldn’t have, but her words warmed him. “Thank you.” He turned back to Dorian. “We’re ready.”

“Excellent!” Dorian headed towards the doors. “Owen will be in the Gull and Lantern, which isn’t too far from here.”

The tavern really wasn’t far from the Chantry at all. Hawke rather wondered at that, since Chantry sisters typically frowned upon drinking.

“It’s no Hanged Man,” Varric said, eyeing it judgmentally.

“That’s a dive, isn’t it?” Blackwall asked. “I’ve been there before, probably about twenty years ago.”

Varric shot him an insulted glance. “It’s  _the_  dive. Filled with the best and worst people in the world.”

“And you liked it?”

“Liked it? It was my home.”

Blackwall looked rather like he suspected Varric was pulling his leg. “You lived in a tavern?”

“It was a bit like a hotel.” Varric paused, considering. “If a hotel had rats, smelled like stale piss, and had moldering cheese in the corners.”

“Let’s not forget the ale,” Anders whispered to Hawke. “Worst ale I’ve ever had.”

There was nothing Hawke could say to that beyond nodding in agreement, so he didn’t.

Even before stepping into the bright and lively tavern, Hawke could feel the presence of dozens of other mages all around him. It was light and warm, completely unlike what he’d experienced in the Gallows.

He wasn’t sure if being in a Circle that wasn’t the Gallows felt like this.

“Just follow my lead,” Dorian said quietly.

Dorian slipped quietly through the tavern, greeting some of the people but sidestepping others. There were some suspicious glares, but far less than Hawke expected.

No one paid them any mind, but that may have been because Hawke kept to the sides, and the others followed his lead. Cassandra angled her body to keep her sword just out of sight, and Blackwall did the same.

They headed upstairs, where it was a great deal emptier but not a great deal quieter. There were a few bedrooms, and Dorian headed to the one at the far end, knocking three times before opening the door.

“First Enchanter, how are you doing?” Dorian sounded inordinately cheerful and just a tad sly.

“That isn’t my title,” a familiar and unexpected voice answered. “You know that, Dorian.”

“Maybe I just like seeing you squirm,” Dorian said with a small smirk. He looked back at Hawke. “Herald, this is Owen, who  _isn’t_  the First Enchanter.”

The elf who definitely  _wasn’t_  Owen turned around, and Hawke found himself staring at First Enchanter Orsino, who wasn’t dressed in the robes Hawke had last seen him in. His tunic and breeches were a bland beige color, and an unnoticeable staff rested besides the window he was standing in front of.

Orsino didn’t seem to recognize Hawke, but his eyes widened slightly upon seeing Varric. Anders was behind Hawke, face still partly hidden by the hood.

“I’m guessing there’s a joke we’re missing out on,” Varric said when the silence dragged out too long. “You don’t look much like a First Enchanter.”

Orsino exhaled slightly, his shoulders inching down minutely. “It’s a term of affection that my fellow mages gave me. Dorian insists on using it around others.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever I was before, titles are meaningless now. We are all apostates.”

“Some are better apostates than others,” Dorian said.

Orsino didn’t look amused. “Perhaps.” His eyes fell on Hawke. “Did he call you ‘Herald’?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Hawke moved into the room, stepping close to the desk to give the others space to enter as well. “He tells me you can help give us an audience with Fiona.”

Orsino’s brow furrowed. “What do you need to meet with her about?”

“Alexius used time travel to arrive here before them,” Dorian said, jerking his thumb in Hawke’s direction. “I spoke with his son, and he’s also working with a Tevinter cult that presumably wants to capture the Herald for suspicious reasons.”

“Really?” Orsino sounded incredulous. “I…why am I not more surprised?” He pinched his nose. “That shouldn’t even be possible, but I’ve seen too much to be able to rule anything out.”

Dorian flashed his teeth. “That’s why I like you.”

“We need the mages’ help to close the Breach.” Hawke gave a mirthless smile. “And we would rather her not make a deal with a Tevinter magister, particularly one dabbling in time magic.”

Orsino’s face twisted unhappily. “You and me both, Herald. She’s refused to listen to my advice. Fear of the templars has run rampant among the younger mages, and the rumors of an approaching templar army have not helped.”

Anders sounded scandalized as he said, “She’s accepting?”

Orsino’s brow furrowed again, his eyes flicking to Anders, who was by Hawke’s side. He squinted briefly, but his face cleared a second later. “She feels she has no other options.” He sighed, adding wearily, “Although I doubt the King of Ferelden will be so gracious once he finds out. We are here by his grace; I wonder if she’s forgotten.”

“We need your help,” Hawke repeated steadily, meeting Orsino’s eyes. “And we can give  _you_  help.”

“It has to be better than making a deal with a  _Tevinter magister_ ,” Anders said snippily.

“They’re traveling with a Tevinter,” Blackwall pointed out.

“He’s helping,” Anders said. “And he doesn’t want to capture Trevelyan.”

“Thank you for that stunning vote of confidence,” Dorian said dryly.

“There were protests,” Orsino said candidly, shrewdly eyeing Anders. It was a moment before something like recognition flashed across his face. “But I’d never seen a more bedraggled Tevinter in my life, and…” His eyes dropped. “I could not turn aside a mage in need. Not after all that happened.”

“A noble sentiment,” Solas said quietly.

“And now?” Cassandra asked pointedly. “Will you help us or not?”

Orsino folded his arms. “What would you offer us? I know little of the Inquisition, except that you work with the Chantry.”

“That’s then,” Hawke said bluntly before Cassandra could say anything. “We don’t anymore. They disavowed us, and I’m in no hurry to get back on their good side. As for what we want? We want your help, and the mages’ allegiance if possible.”

“ _Trevelyan_.” Cassandra’s voice was sharp.

“What?” Hawke fixed her with a pointed glare. “Were you expecting anything different? We need the mages’ help. Were you expecting I’d  _force_  them to do it? Or blackmail?”

Cassandra’s face was carefully blank. “Is this a wise decision?”

“I don’t know.” Hawke shrugged carelessly. “And, really, I don’t care. It’s the right one.”

“Maker’s breath,” Orsino blurted. “I…” He blinked rapidly, looking at Hawke as if he was the Maker Himself. “Thank the Maker. It’s…we could use someone like you.” There was something else in his words, and he stared at Hawke with respect and with a small smile playing at his lips. “I can get you in to speak to Fiona. She’s meeting with Magister Alexius in the morning in the castle, but they know me. They won’t let you in, but I can do it.”

“Get us in,” Hawke said, holding Orsino’s eyes, “and we’ll handle the rest.”

“Herald…” There was a weight to the word that hadn’t been there before when Orsino used it. “I don’t have the slightest doubt.”

* * *

They spent the rest of the night in Orsino’s room, even as cramped as it was with eight of them in such a small space. Hawke was used to sleeping in more uncomfortable spaces, as was Anders, so they both managed to get a few hours of sleep.

He woke to the sounds of Varric’s faint snoring and Blackwall muttering vaguely under his breath, but Cassandra was already awake and so was Solas. Orsino was staring out the window, picking at a stray thread on his tunic.

Dorian was still asleep on the bed, but he woke as Hawke touched his foot and shook it gently. His first words were in Tevene, which Hawke didn’t understand beyond registering that it didn’t sound at all like Fenris when he was rudely woken up in the morning by Isabela singing loudly outside his windows.

It didn’t take long for everyone to get ready and exit the Gull and Lantern. In the morning, the tavern actually looked respectable, not at all like the Hanged Man. There wasn’t an effigy of a gull and lantern either, which really was a shame.

The bridge leading to the castle was broken, but Orsino led them to another spot where they could cross. The guards gave them all suspicious looks, but they did let them pass.

Granted, that was entirely due to Orsino’s stern “They’re with me.”

“I cannot believe Bann Teagan is actually in favor of this,” Cassandra said quietly, walking next to Hawke as they followed Orsino through the castle.

“He isn’t,” Orsino responded, walking rapidly. “But there’s little he can do since none of us are technically his subjects, and the magister is a guest. Yet there have been…rumors.”

“Of blood magic, you mean?”

“What else?”

Orsino stopped in front of a large pair of doors with another set of guards standing in front of it, turning to look at Hawke. “The main hall,” he said simply. “They’re meeting here.”

“You can’t go in,” one guard protested.

“Actually,” Hawke said slowly, fixing the guard with a stony glare, “I can.”

And he opened the doors before they could protest further, taking the lead and stalking into the room. Or, well, perhaps it wasn’t  _stalking_ , but it was rather predatory. Isabela had once called it “prowling” and winked at him. Followed by cooing when Hawke went red.

Two people were in the center of room, presumably Fiona and Alexius. There was a third person a few feet away from Alexius, looking rather wan and worried. Guards stood to the side by the pillars, some of them mages and others not.

Alexius was a blood mage. That was the first thing Hawke noticed about him. The second was that the Fade was just  _wrong_  around him, like looking through too many mirrors. It made his stomach roil trying to make sense of what he was seeing, and Hawke tried to focus on the physical realm.

It didn’t really work. His senses were shitty that way.

To help his roiling stomach and settle the nausea, Hawke looked at a point above Alexius’s head, right above the seething Fade.

“What is the meaning of this?” Alexius demanded, whirling on them.

Fiona was a blessing to look at, calm and bright and soothing. “Owen, what is this?”

“The Herald of Andraste,” Orsino answered from behind Hawke.

“What?” Alexius sounded shocked. “You’re no mage!”

Had Alexius expected him to be one?

“Sorry to disappoint.” Hawke shot him a flat smile.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” The Fade around Alexius twisted in on itself, looking more agitated than before.

An acrid taste filled Hawke’s mouth, and he struggled not to gag. “That’s funny, because I could say the same thing of you. What  _is_  a Tevinter magister doing here?” He came closer, footsteps loud in the silence.

It was a moment, and then Alexius spoke in a calm voice. Hawke rather wanted to see his face, but he suspected he might throw up if he did. “I’m helping these mages.”

Hawke raised his eyebrows, looking at a point between Alexius and Fiona. “Simply out of the kindness of your heart?”

“They will be productive citizens of Tevinter after they’ve worked for a period of ten years,” Alexius said. “As they are not Tevinter citizens by birth, it’s the only way they can gain citizenship.”

“And you would agree to this?” Orsino demanded furiously, glaring at Fiona.

“There is no choice,” Fiona said helplessly. “What would you have me do? We cannot stand against the templars alone.”

“You don’t need to work with a magister to be safe,” Hawke said. “The Inquisition could use your help.”

“The Inquisition is associated with the Chantry.” Alexius’s tone was gentle, as if speaking with a child. “Would working with them be any different than the shackles of the Chantry you so recently threw off?”

“Your Imperium deals with  _slaves_ ,” Anders said sharply. “I don’t think you have a leg to stand on.”

“That’s enough, Alexius.” Dorian stepped forward, coming to stand by Hawke. “He knows what you did to come here.”

“Dorian?” Alexius sounded surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Not tearing time apart in an attempt to get to the Herald,” Dorian said flatly. “What were you  _thinking_?”

Hawke wasn’t looking, but he could see Alexius tilting his head in his peripheral vision. “What an interesting accusation.”

“They know, Father,” the young man to the side said quietly. Hawke glanced at him for a second before regretting it entirely because he looked just like his father, albeit a little less fuzzy.

“Felix…what have you done?”

“I told Dorian everything.” Felix sounded strained. “He had to know what you were doing.”

“You wanted to get to me,” Hawke said slowly. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Alexius said, turning back to Hawke. He reached into his robes. “You’re not even the man the Elder One told me you would be. Why he’s so concerned about you is beyond me. But I’m here, and so are you. The mistake at the Temple can be rectified, and the Elder One will help me.”

“Elder One?” Hawke said at the same time Felix said, “Help you?”

“Help you for what?” Felix continued.

“You won’t die,” Alexius said, manic. “You  _won’t_. And  _you_.” He held up a strange necklace, the charm at the end glowing green and tugging at the Fade in ways it shouldn’t be pulled. “You’re a mistake. A mistake that should never have existed.”

Hawke’s world tilted, something pulling at him in different directions. He vaguely heard a shout of denial, felt a wash of unfamiliar magic, and then the conflicting tug of the Fade jerked him  _forwards_.

Stumbling, head spinning dizzily, he fell into water that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

There were alarmed shouts and vigorous splashing sounds.

Hawke managed to lift his head up and focus his eyes to see that he wasn’t surrounded by friendlies. He should probably—

The two enemies burst into flames even as he thought about it, disintegrating into ashes in seconds.

“Well, that was a surprise,” Dorian’s voice said above him. “I certainly didn’t do that.”

What? But Hawke – he hadn’t—

Blindly accepting the hand Dorian offered him, Hawke let himself be pulled to his feet, knees nearly giving out on him. He listed in Dorian’s direction, vaguely grateful when the other put a hand to his shoulder and kept him upright.

“Are you all right?” Dorian sounded far more concerned that Hawke would have expected. “You’re looking rather green.”

“Really?” Hawke glanced down at his hand, only to see the mark glistening faintly.

“Well, yes, but I meant the sick kind of green.”

“Ah…” Hawke closed his eyes, focusing on breathing, only to nearly choke when he inhaled what felt like the pure Fade.

The Fade was so  _close_. It was all around him, so much closer than he’d ever felt it before. It brushed against his skin, whispering into his ears, and his magic  _sang_.

Opening his eyes, Hawke looked around the room they were in. They were standing in water that went halfway up his shins, a gate barring their way. It was probably locked, so it would need to be—

It iced over and shattered even as he contemplated picking its lock, and he almost missed the subsequent depletion of his mana.

“That definitely wasn’t me,” Dorian said, alarmed. “Is there someone down here?”

Hawke shook his head as Dorian pulled away, presumably to look for anyone else. He pressed a hand to his forehead, telling himself to  _calm down_.

It felt like drowning and flying all at once, the Fade hugging him tightly and his magic jumping at the slightest  _thought_.

“I don’t know where we are,” Dorian said a few minutes later, splashing his way back to Hawke. “There isn’t anyone else down here. Are you  _sure_  you’re all right?”

“No.” Hawke was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. “We were in the castle when Alexius did…something.”

Dorian didn’t say anything for a long moment. When Hawke looked, he seemed to be thinking.

When he did eventually speak, it wasn’t what Hawke expected. “Ah.”

“Is that a good ‘ah’ or a bad ‘ah’?”

“It’s a ‘we seem to have traveled in time’ ah,” Dorian said, looking rather sheepish but excited. But he modulated his tone as he continued, “I thought we simply moved locations, but that can’t be right. We’re still in the castle. Whatever Alexius did, he wanted to erase you from time itself. But I interfered, so the spell went awry.”

“In which direction?” Hawke’s voice was still astoundingly calm. “Forwards or back?”

“Well…I suppose we’ll need to find out, won’t we?” Dorian shot him a concerned look. “Don’t worry.” His voice was gentle. “It’ll be all right. I’ll protect you.”

“Right.” Hawke didn’t really need the protection, but the sentiment was nice. “Thank you.” His voice was still too calm, and his heart pounded loudly in his ears.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right at  _all_.

It occurred to Hawke that he was probably in shock. It also occurred to Hawke that he had no idea what happened to the others – to Anders.

And he – he—

 _Fuck_.

* * *

_It had been because of how strong the Fade was around Anders was that he initially sought to spend time with him. That it was due to Anders sharing his body with a spirit didn’t actually put him off spending time with Anders._

_It just intrigued him all the more, since it wasn’t as if most people would **willingly**  agree to share their body with a Fade spirit._

_But while he’d initially spent time with Anders out of curiosity, he wasn’t entirely sure when it changed to something else. When he started looking for Anders to see him smile and laugh or to simply be near him because he **wanted**  Anders’s warmth._

_He wasn’t sure, and the thought wasn’t as terrifying as it might have been._

_Even though everything else was terrifying, and he wasn’t sure half the time what he was even doing._

_He blundered his way through conversations and spending more time with Anders, watching his fingers and hands work as they healed people, wielded magic, and organized herbs. He wondered what those hands would feel like on his skin when Anders wasn’t healing him, but he didn’t know how to ask. So he never did._

_It didn’t really seem to matter, since Anders never responded to anything he said. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t say the right things or if it was because Anders wasn’t feeling the same way he did. Sometimes it seemed like Anders would look at him a certain way – the sharp taste of the Fade stronger than usual – but it was gone before he could really be sure._

_Varric kept saying it was a matter of time, along with asking why he was even interested in Anders anyway – there were other fish in the sea, Hawke._

_Maybe there were, but this was the only fish he was interested in._

_If he liked fish. Which he really didn’t (they were too smelly and slimy and no, it wasn’t because he’d been attacked by some kind of tentacle monster in Lake Calenhad, Carver)._

_The thing was…the thing was he didn’t know what he was doing. Whether it was wrong or right or if he was annoying Anders or amusing him. Anders hadn’t told him off yet, so he was hoping it was fine._

_And then Ser Alrik happened, and he was – he was holding Justice back. Because it was **Justice** , the Fade sparking sharply against his skin and stinging his mouth as he breathed it in. It was Justice as he shouldn’t be, fury and anger and  **vengeance** , the darkness that infested Kirkwall darkening his light._

_“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Remember what you’re fighting for. You’re trying to help her, Justice. **Anders**.”_

_He wasn’t sure what it was that snapped Anders back to himself, but he reeled back, the cracks of spirit light in his skin fading away. He seemed absolutely horrified, shaking and ashen-faced._

_Once in Darktown, he left the girl with Varric and Aveline, trusting in them to protect her as he hurried after Anders. He had to make sure Anders was fine, that he wouldn’t do anything rash._

_Rash as in pack everything and leave Kirkwall in the middle of the night, which was what he found Anders doing in his clinic, vehemently sorting through what to take and what to keep._

_“What are you doing?”_

_“I’m leaving,” Anders said shortly. “I can’t – I’m not safe. You were the only thing that kept me from murdering an innocent girl.”_

_“You stopped.”_

_“Because of **you**.” Anders looked up at him, pure distress writ on his features. “You called to Justice – to me. It’s all gone wrong – Justice and I. We’re just a monster—”_

_“You’re no monster,” he said fiercely, stepping forwards and reaching out. He stopped before touching, dropping his hand in frustration. This wasn’t the **time** , he reminded himself. “Neither of you.”_

_“You say that with such confidence.” Anders’s smile was bitter. “As if you haven’t seen us at our worst.”_

_“And best,” he said steadily, curling his hands into fists at his sides. “You lost control, Anders; you saw something that made you upset—”_

_“I can’t afford to lose control,” Anders snapped, the Fade’s scent around him sharpening. But Justice didn’t come forth, and Anders took several breaths._

_“Neither can I, but I have.”_

_“Flash frying a few dozen slavers and rogue templars isn’t the same thing as an abomination losing control.”_

_“You’re not an **abomination** ,” he snapped. “You’re not—”_

_“You can tell that, can you?” Anders studied him intently, eyes dark. “Or are you just saying that to be nice?”_

_“I’m not nice.”_

_“You are,” Anders said, “but that’s all right. I’ll keep your secret.” His smile was sad. “I don’t understand how you can still be on my side after all this.”_

_There were a hundred witty rejoinders that sprang to his lips, but none actually meant anything. He swallowed dryly, heart pounding painfully in his chest. “It’s been two years, Anders. I think by now you should realize I’m not going anywhere.”_

_“Hm.” Anders’s eyes dropped. “Was the Tranquil Solution real?” he asked quietly. “Or was that another of my delusions?”_

_“You’re not delusional.” He held the papers he’d lifted off of Alrik to Anders. “But it was just Alrik’s plan.” He didn’t mention that Carver had hinted at it in his letters, that some templars would be all too willing to carry it out. Anders already knew, and he didn’t need confirmation._

_Besides, it was worth everything to see the hope fill Anders’s face when he realized that perhaps he could reason with the Chantry after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, surprise! Yeah, Orsino being alive is a thing in this story. I have a lot of feelings about Varric being an _incredibly_ unreliable narrator and willing to lie for Hawke if necessary. Also Orsino doing the thing if Hawke is pro-mage and totally willing to go to bat for the mages? Doesn't make sense. So, yeah, he's alive and took Dorian in because a bedraggled Tevinter mage wasn't the worst thing he'd seen. And the mage really did look pitiful.
> 
> Next chapter is going to be a lot of fun and it's really long.
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated! :)


	7. Hinterlands IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I missed last week... No one minds, right? Sorry.
> 
> In any case, this is a really long one! It...kind of ends on a cliffhanger again. Although less of one than last time. (You haven't seen nothing _yet_.)  
>  There's a lot of angst in this one, although the flashbacks kind of make up for it? And here's also where my head canon of Hawke as demi really comes through. And Hawke being truly terrible at flirting (is this even a head canon? They have terrible lines in the games).
> 
> Enjoy! I'd love to hear feedback. :)

_“I miss having a cat.”_

_“Difficult keeping one in Darktown?”_

_“And I can’t find any.” Anders looked down at the bowl of milk he had put out. “They might have been scared off…or maybe the refugees ate them.” He narrowed his eyes as he said this._

_He couldn’t help but smile at the suspicion in Anders’s tone, so unlike the last time he’d spoken to him. There wasn’t any of the darkness that had been there last, and he hoped it stayed that way._

_Anders was looking at him strangely, probably because of his smile. “What?”_

_“Nothing, it’s… I’m glad you’re still here.”_

_“Where else would I be?” Anders stepped back from the doorway, coming closer to him._

_“You were thinking of leaving when we spoke last,” he said quietly, tucking his hands behind his back. He could be good. He didn’t need to touch._

_“I wasn’t thinking,” Anders said. “I thought I could solve it by running away, but it wouldn’t help anything. At least here…you’d stop me if that happens again.”_

_There was a sense of finality to the words, as if Anders thought he would actually be able to **kill**  him. “I would,” he said cautiously._

_“I wanted to thank you,” Anders said, sounding rather like he was about to give a grand speech than talking to a friend. “Having you here…it’s meant so much. It’s shown me that it’s possible to be a mage outside of the trappings of the Circle. That you don’t have to be taught by the Circle to be able to control yourself. Your help has been invaluable, both for me and the mage underground.”_

_“I want to keep you safe,” he said unthinkingly. “You and others who need it. But…” His mouth was dry, and he clenched his hands where Anders couldn’t see them. “I’m doing it for you,” he admitted quietly, aching, aching, and just needing to be **there**. “Because I don’t want to see you hurt anymore than you have been.”_

_Anders didn’t say anything for several terrifying moments, his gaze steady. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re serious,” he said finally, “but then you go and say things like that. I can’t…I don’t know what you want. You saw what I am – what I almost did to that girl – but I’m still a man, Hawke. You can’t tease me like this and expect me to resist forever.”_

_“I’m serious,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound or look as terrified as he felt. “I’m not teasing. I want – I want…what you can give me.”_

_He didn’t know what to expect, only that he was hoping for **something**. When Anders lunged at him, he staggered back in surprise, only just managing to brace himself before they fell over. His arms went up around Anders automatically, mouth opening in a surprised inhalation that Anders took advantage of._

_It was startling, having Anders so **close**. He was incredibly warm, and the presence of the Fade that was all around him was pressed right against his skin, tickling him and warming him from the outside in._

_Anders’s mouth was over his own. They were **kissing** , and he wasn’t quite sure what to do except for clumsily following Anders’s lead and just letting himself be kissed, heady warmth spiraling through him at the realization it was  **happening**._

_Anders pulled away too quickly, but he leaned in back in at a different angle a second later, hands coming up to cup his head._

_And then Anders pulled away entirely, breathing heavily. “This will be a disaster,” he said, voice hoarse._

_He licked his lips, entire mouth tingling from what had just happened. He didn’t unwind his arms from around Anders, worried that the other would run if he did. “A glorious disaster, I hope.”_

_Something unreadable flashed across Anders’s face. “There you go again.” His brief smile was unexpectedly wistful and gone before he could wonder why. “But I can’t live without it. I thought that with Justice…this part of me was over.”_

_“It doesn’t seem over to me.”_

_“Tonight…if you want this…leave your door open.” Anders dropped a hand to his arm, squeezing gently. “If it’s closed, I’ll know your answer.”_

_“It won’t be closed,” he said, unwilling to let go. But he did, since Anders had asked it of him. “You’ll be there?”_

_The look Anders shot him was indiscernible. “If it’s open.”_

_How Anders thought it **wouldn’t**  be open was beyond him. He’d been pretty clear these last two years, hadn’t he?_

_Clear enough that Aveline had told him to please stop with the horrible lines because they made her want to cry. He wasn’t sure why, since everyone used them._

* * *

Hawke allowed himself a few more minutes of silently freaking out before telling himself to get a grip. They were lost in time, but he had the man partly responsible for creating the spell right with him. It would be  _fine_.

“Do you think the others were brought with us?” Hawke asked, rubbing his face.

“The rift wasn’t nearly large enough. Alexius wouldn’t risk pulling himself or Felix through.” Dorian looked grim. “No, they’re still when and where we left them.”

“Okay.” Hawke nodded, reassured at the thought. “Then we go back. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Theoretically, yes.” Dorian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll need the amulet, though. Alexius used it as a focus to pull us through time. I can use it to pull us back. But first we’ll need to find out  _when_  we are. It’s not really advisable putting the spell together if you don’t know how far you’re traveling.”

“Of course it isn’t.” Hawke swallowed, breathing in magic and the Fade. It wasn’t quite right, and he wondered just why Dorian wasn’t overwhelmed by how close the Fade was now. The Veil didn’t even seem to  _exist_.

After another few breaths that didn’t help as much as they should have, Hawke started walking through the water to the gate he’d accidentally iced over and broken. His legs felt chilled by the time he stepped onto dry stone, his boots uncomfortably soaked and the cloth of his pants sticking to his skin.

There was red lyrium all around. It was impossible to miss seeing it, but he couldn’t feel it with how overpowering the Fade was. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

The stairs they walked up were slippery but otherwise in good condition. Moisture ran down the walls, and occasionally they ran across a skeleton or a half-rotten corpse.

“Lovely,” Dorian muttered, several feet behind Hawke.

Hawke said nothing, focused on getting to the next level and figuring out where to go from there. The castle was large, and he wasn’t familiar with its layout.

There was a door at the top of the stairs, which wasn’t locked when he tried it. Just as well, since he didn’t fancy accidentally opening it with magic again.

The thought of what happened earlier had his fingers tingling, and he forcefully squashed the spell before it could form. But ice still lingered on the door, and he hoped Dorian didn’t notice it.

Hawke cautiously pushed the door open, glad when it seemed no one was there. He stepped forwards, skin tingling as something brushed past him.

It was all the warning he had before blazing light solidified in front of him, and an enraged voice shouted, “How  _dare_  you! How  _dare_  you wear his face! Unmask yourself, demon!”

It wasn’t quite a punch, but there was a forceful push that threw Hawke back and into Dorian. The only reason they didn’t take a plunge down the stairs was because Dorian had an iron grip on the door frame.

Hawke couldn’t quite make out what the light was supposed to look like, but there was no mistaking who it felt like. “Justice?” He stumbled to his feet when Dorian pushed him off, holding a hand out to stop the other from taking his staff in hand.

He wasn’t quite Justice at the moment, though, feeling more like Vengeance than the spirit Hawke knew. “Don’t speak my name, demon!” the spirit snarled. “Take his face off before I obliterate you from existence!”

There was no time for Hawke to respond before Justice struck. Lightning and ice crackled across the walls as he instinctively defended himself, but Justice pushed past his defense, striking Hawke’s raised hands.

He stopped dead the moment Hawke’s left hand made contact, the green light of the mark searing with the touch, but somehow the sense of  _vengeance_  strengthened. “ _Pretender_.”

“Stop it!” Hawke pushed back as best as he could, but Justice’s strength was overwhelming. “ _Justice_!”

Justice did stop, but he didn’t let up the pressure against Hawke. “You’re…not afraid of me.”

“No.” Hawke couldn’t be. His feet slid back an inch, only to stop when Dorian braced a hand on his back.

“You’re mad,” Dorian muttered from behind Hawke. “Let’s reason with the demon.”

Justice reacted as expected, dark energy flaring from him. “I am no demon!”

“Justice!” Hawke snapped. Justice  _was_  no demon, but Dorian would certainly think so if he continued to act this way.

It was as if a switch was flipped, the energy from Justice lightening to something more like a spirit than a demon of vengeance. “You – what is this?” He seemed to flinch back from the energy bursting from Hawke’s mark. “The mark—”

“Justice, it’s me.” Hawke pushed back against the spirit, relieved when Justice let him. After a moment, the light of Justice’s form coalesced into something more human.

The spirit looked like an luminescent version of Anders, but occasionally the visage of a knight overlaid itself of that of Anders’s person. But it  _wasn’t_  Anders. “Hawke.” Justice sounded disbelieving and…yearning?

Justice relented, drawing back from pushing against Hawke. But he didn’t pull away entirely, taking hold of Hawke’s left hand and tugging it towards himself. “It can’t be you,” he said quietly, his voice reverberating through Hawke’s bones. “You’re dead. Yet…”

“I’m not,” Hawke said, reaching out with his other hand. He bit his lip when it went through Justice instead of making contact. His skin tingled when he withdrew.

There wasn’t a hint of Vengeance left, simply Justice.

For an instant, Hawke remembered what Solas had told him about the nature of spirits. Was it  _really_  so simple?

“I saw you die,” Justice said, grief in his voice. “I saw you disappear into the void, and there was nothing I could do.”

“I’m alive,” Hawke said gently, holding tightly onto Justice’s hand with his left. “We both are. We were simply thrown through time.” He hesitated, then asked what he needed to know. “Anders?”

“Dead.” The word was a heavy weight for all that Justice dropped it like it was nothing, and Hawke’s fingers gave a spasm where Justice was holding them. “Hawke—”

“I have absolutely  _no idea_  what is happening right now,” Dorian interrupted, pushing past Hawke to put some distance between them. “ _Hawke_? The same Hawke as the Champion of Kirkwall?  _That_  Hawke? And are  _you_  the spirit of justice that was possessing the mage that destroyed Kirkwall’s Chantry?”

Justice turned his head to watch Dorian steadily. “Yes.”

“Maker’s breath.” Dorian looked staggered, eyes wide. “You…they have no idea who you are, do they?”

“Varric does.” Hawke dropped his hand, but didn’t pull it away from Justice’s grip. “As does Anders. But the others don’t.”

“Anders – Anders…your suspicious friend?”

Hawke inclined his head in confirmation, not quite able to get his voice to work. He had no idea what it would sound like if he did.

His chest hurt, and all he really wanted to do was curl up in a ball and not move.

“If you came forward in time,” Justice said, grabbing Hawke’s attention, “then can you return?”

“That’s the plan,” Dorian said when Hawke didn’t answer. “Provided I can find Alexius.”

“You can.” The visage of Anders flickered out to that of a knight in armor, but Hawke could still see Anders’s face under it. “I know where he is. I also know where the others are.”

“The others?”

“Your companions,” Justice told Hawke, finally letting Hawke’s hand go. His appearance changed back to that of Anders’s. “They’re still here.”

Hawke wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer, but they didn’t need it. “How far did we travel in time?”

Justice didn’t answer immediately, his glowing eyes locked on Hawke’s. “I don’t know,” he answered eventually. “Time has been…strange for me.”

“Then we’ll have to ask one of the others,” Dorian said firmly, remarkably more composed than he had been several minutes ago. “Can you take us to them?”

“I won’t leave you,” Justice said, eyes still on Hawke. “Not now and not here.” He turned, walking down the hall. “Come.”

Hawke instantly followed after, eyes on Justice’s glowing back. It  _hurt_  to see Justice walking around looking like Anders, but he didn’t exactly  _feel_  entirely like Anders had. There were similarities, but Justice felt so much more like the pure Fade than Anders, although he didn’t feel entirely like a spirit did.

“What happened?” Hawke asked as they walked up another flight of stairs.

“The darkspawn magister,” was Justice’s flat response. “And his followers. I don’t know much; I…lost myself for a time. When I returned, much of what you see around you was already here. But the Breach has grown, and the Fade and the living world are one and the same. Even though nothing  _is_  the same.”

“And – and Anders?”

Justice stopped before a door, face blank. “Wait here.” Without another word, he walked through it.

Hawke stared at the door for a moment, unsure of what was going on.

A few seconds later, screaming filled the air and the taste of the Fade sharpened painfully.

Hawke slammed open the door, a spell ready to be cast when he stopped dead upon seeing Justice sheathing an ethereal sword and standing in the middle of a strange room that seemed to simply be a gridded iron floor over a chasm.

“Did you just kill someone?” Dorian asked, sounding rather bewildered.

“They would have hurt you,” Justice said, looking at Hawke. “Come; your friends are not much further.”

Shoving his magic down, Hawke followed Justice through another doorway and down a flight of slippery stairs. Some of the doors were blocked by rubble or red lyrium bursting through the wood and stone around it. Water dripped through the ceiling and formed puddles on the floor that they walked through.

The first person Justice led them to was Cassandra, who was reciting a verse from the Chant of Light.

She didn’t look well, a faint reddish glow about her person and Hawke was actually grateful that he couldn’t sense it right now.

“Cassandra?”

Cassandra didn’t react immediately, looking from her seat on the floor. Her eyes widened upon seeing Hawke. “Can it be? Is it really you?”

“It is.”

“But I was  _there_. Alexius’s spell obliterated you.”

“We came forward in time,” Hawke said, eyes flicking to the lock on the door. The thought of picking the lock had barely formed before ice formed and shattered it. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Shit.”

“Before…that was you, wasn’t it?” Dorian sounded incredulous. “ _How_?”

“The Champion of Kirkwall.” Cassandra’s voice was a combination of anger and grief. “Yes, I know who you are now.” She slowly stood, pushing the door open. “You couldn’t have told us before?”

Hawke tightened his jaw. “Was there any reason to? You would have arrested me or worse. I can’t trust your motivations.”

“We  _looked_  for you,” Cassandra snapped. “But you were nowhere to be found. And, of course, you turn up under our noses and we don’t find out until it’s too late. Until it’s all lost.”

“It isn’t lost,” Dorian protested, eyes flicking between a stony-faced Hawke and Cassandra. “We traveled forwards in time. We can go back and undo all this.” He paused, inclining his head. “Incidentally, how far in the future are we?”

“A year,” Cassandra answered, looking askance at Dorian. She saw Justice in the back, and her eyes hardened. “ _Demon_!”

She made as if to attack, but Hawke threw her back. “Stop! He’s no demon!”

“Isn’t he?” Cassandra jerked away from Hawke’s touch, glaring in Justice’s direction. “You don’t know what you speak of, Champion.”

“I know more than  _you_.” Hawke glanced at Justice, glad when the spirit just blinked at him. “He isn’t a demon, so I’ll thank you not to call him one.”

“Then what  _is_  it?”

“I am Justice,” Justice said, not moving from his position.

“Are you truly? Or are you  _Vengeance_?”

“He says he’s Justice, and so he is,” Hawke said before the anger he could feel rising in Justice reached a crescendo. He gave Cassandra a hard look, saying slowly, “We need to keep moving and find the others and Alexius.”

“Very well.” Cassandra folded her arms, still eyeing Justice suspiciously. “Then let us go.”

Justice took the lead, and Hawke made sure to put himself between him and Cassandra. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Cassandra but…he didn’t trust her. Not with Justice.

They stopped to loot a corpse for a weapon for Cassandra to use, picking up a shield from an empty room a minute later. There was a familiar crossbow in that same room, and Hawke picked it up without thinking of  _why_  it was in here.

Varric was still alive. Unlike Anders.

His heart throbbed in his chest, and he bit his lip until he tasted blood. It wouldn’t stay like this.

It couldn’t.

Varric and Blackwall were in the same section, and this time Hawke deliberately looked at the locks, thinking of freezing them and exploding them. It worked like a charm, the magic releasing with barely any effort.

“You’re alive?” Varric sounded disbelieving, his eyes wide as he looked at Hawke.

“We saw you die,” Blackwall said.

“We traveled through time,” Hawke said, managing a weak smile. “Surprise?”

“Some surprise,” Varric said with a bark of bitter laughter. “But at least you’re  _here_. Fuck, Hawke, it’s a mess.”

“I know.” Hawke reached out to touch Varric but stopped short when Varric shied away. “I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t touch any of us.” Varric’s smile was pained. “We’re infected with red lyrium.”

Hawke curled his fingers in, recalling the feel of the heat of Cassandra’s body under his hands. He knew he was still clean; there would be no hiding red lyrium  _inside_  him. “We can undo this,” he said instead, throat tight.

“I sure hope so, Hawke.” Varric’s eyes flicked to the side, narrowing when he saw Justice. “You Justice or Vengeance right now?”

“He’s fine,” Hawke said before Justice could respond, going to touch Varric on the shoulder but stopping just before he did. “He’s with us.”

“Of course he is.” Varric’s smile was wistful. “You always had a way about you. Is that Bianca?”

Hawke didn’t answer, handing the crossbow over for Varric to take.

“So we’ve most of the gang here,” Varric said. “Going to collect Chuckles?”

Hawke nodded, glancing back to Justice. “Justice knows where he is.”

Solas ended up being across the hall, and he didn’t seem half as disbelieving as the others when told it was time travel. He looked just as sickly, but the Fade was even closer to him than before, like a second skin that Hawke had to look through.

“Can you reverse it?” was all he asked, eyes on Hawke.

“I plan to,” Dorian said grimly.

Accepting the answer with a nod, Solas turned to Justice with a small smile. “Hello, Justice.”

Justice inclined his head in answer. “Solas.”

“I take it you know each other?” Hawke said dryly.

“We’ve spoken often over the past year,” Solas said.

“Indeed.” Justice said nothing else, turning to Hawke, his visage changing to that of the knight. “We must find Alexius now.”

“I know. Can you take us to him?”

“I know where he is,” Justice said. He hesitated, the armor fading back to Anders’s face. “Stay close.”

“I haven’t seen you around since Anders bit it,” Varric said candidly as they climbed a flight of stairs.

Justice didn’t visibly react, but Hawke’s eyes watered as the sense of the Fade surrounding Justice sharpened dangerously.

“Did you tell Hawke what happened?” Varric continued blithely.

“Varric.” Hawke’s voice was more pained than he expected it to be.

Varric shot him a glance. “You don’t want to know?”

“Don’t antagonize Justice.” Hawke stepped over a rotting corpse, pausing as Blackwall lifted the rusted sword lying by its side. “I do want to know,” he said after a moment to answer Varric’s question, voice quiet.

“He went all glowy like he usually did whenever you pissed him off,” Varric said, eyes fixed on a point ahead of them. “Like that night in the Chantry when we first met him? But worse. I don’t know how many people he killed before we put him down.”

“It was a slaughter,” Cassandra said quietly. “And none of us noticed anything until the Grand Enchanter was killed.”

“I…” Hawke squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the sound that wanted to escape. He desperately wanted Anders, wanted to tell him that it was  _fine_. He was alive. Justice was here, but he could tell that the spirit was just as lost.

“He did die,” Varric added tonelessly. “But damn if he didn’t make it difficult.”

“He would not have died if he did not wish it,” Justice said, not looking back at Hawke. “And if I had not desired it as well. But he died and I…I did not.” His form flickered between a knight and Anders’s appearance. “They tried to bind me like their demon slaves, but their ritual failed. I was not like  _them_. Not anymore.”

“You are a demon,” Cassandra snapped.

“ **I am not** ,” Justice growled, the words thrumming through Hawke’s bones. A second later, he spoke in a normal voice, sounding lost. “I don’t know what I am.”

Chest hurting, Hawke touched his shoulder with his left hand, relieved when it worked. “You’re Justice.”

It was a knight that looked back at Hawke, but he could swear that there was a smile under that helmet. “I am.”

Hawke gave Justice’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting his hand drop. His next breath was shaky, and he pressed a hand to his mouth, hoping the others couldn’t see.

It was fine, it was fine,  _it was fine_. He could  _fix this_.

It didn’t have to happen like this.

But that didn’t stop it from  _hurting_ , his every heartbeat painful and his breaths stinging his lungs.

A hand touched his elbow, startling Hawke. He whipped his head around, only to meet Dorian’s sympathetic eyes.

“We’ll fix this,” Dorian assured him. “I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Hawke responded automatically, horrified when his voice came out choked.

Dorian kindly ignored it. “I don’t. This is a promise I intend to keep, and it’s not entirely selfless.” His smile was wry. “Do you think I want to stay here anymore than you? But I promise you, this  _won’t_  happen.”

The conviction with which Dorian spoke those words was enough to reassure Hawke, some of the heavy weight in his chest lifting until he could breathe a little more easily. It wasn’t entirely gone – wouldn’t be until he was back in his proper time – but it was enough that he could focus on what needed to be done.

They moved quickly through the dungeon corridors, Justice moving ahead at times to take care of any opposition with brutal efficiency. At one point he didn’t quite manage it, but the person he missed went up in flames the moment Hawke considered attacking him.

“You’re terrifying,” Dorian told Hawke, knuckles white on his staff.

“This isn’t exactly normal,” Hawke said, staring at where the person had been standing before falling off the edge of the gridded floor.

“You were always close to the Fade,” Justice said, coming to stand by Hawke’s side and looking painfully like Anders. “Did you expect otherwise now that you are essentially standing in the Fade itself?”

“We are not in the Fade,” Cassandra said.

“You are,” Justice said simply. “It is not how I wanted to return.”

Hawke remembered him saying that before when they had entered the Fade to rescue Feynriel.

“To be accurate, we are in a mix of the Fade and the world of the living,” Solas said.

“ _How_?” Dorian sounded incredulous.

The others shared looks, their faces a complicated mixture of grief, anger, and weariness.

“You’ll have to see it,” Blackwall said when no one else spoke. “It’s…difficult to explain.”

“There’s no need to.” Justice walked off to the exit, his form flickering between that of the knight and Anders. “Come. Time is wasting.”

Surprisingly enough, they ran into Leliana. She looked horribly ill, aged beyond her years and yet still as agile as Hawke remembered her to be. She was also terribly bitter, glaring at Hawke as if he’d done something to offend her.

“You will fix this,” Leliana told him and Dorian, voice hard. “You  _will_.”

“That’s the plan,” Hawke said, not flinching away from her eyes. And that was it. He didn’t speak to her again, not wanting to hear the recriminations she would hurl at him.

Because she  _would_. Hawke recognized that particular brand of bitterness.

Dorian was far less circumspect, asking her probing questions about what had happened the past year. Leliana spoke briefly about Empress Celene’s assassination and a demon army, but she shut down further questions brutally.

It was rather odd and not at all intelligent, he thought. Even if Dorian was trying to fill the silence, the questions he was asking were important. They needed to know what happened if only so this didn’t happen in their future.

Not that it  _would_. They were going back and that would already change everything.

They climbed up a final flight of stairs and through another door and then they were in the courtyard.

Dorian swore under his breath, a foul expletive in Tevene that needed no translation.

“The Breach expanded,” Cassandra said grimly, head tilted back to look at the ominous hole, “and it swallowed the world.”

It was wrong, Hawke realized with a shiver. So wrong. This wasn’t the way of things.

The Fade pressed close to him, brushing against his skin and whispering into his ears, but it wasn’t like it was supposed to be. He didn’t know  _how_  it was supposed to be, but not like this.

The mark in his hand flickered with light, pulsing gently as a reminder that he was partly responsible for this.

And then a fucking rift opened right above their heads, even though they were practically  _in the Fade_.

Hawke glared up at it, wanting it  _closed_  and barely raising his hand to do it before the rift winked shut. The mark flared and pulsed painfully for a brief second before quieting.

It was just the demons left, and one went to attack Hawke.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was thinking, but evidently a paralysis glyph was in his thoughts because several formed on the ground, freezing the demons in place. And if they were frozen now, that meant they were in the perfect position for—

Arcs of lightning struck each of the demons, followed practically instantly by freezing cold that shattered them.

His mana dropped with every accidental spell until Hawke staggered back and into Dorian, breathing heavily and shaking. He hadn’t used so much mana in rapid succession in ages, and he didn’t like the feeling.

“Andraste’s ass, Hawke.” Varric sounded frightened. “What did you just do?”

“I don’t know,” Hawke managed, leaning heavily against Dorian. “I don’t – fuck.” He shivered, clenching his eyes shut and using a small tendril of mana to cast a regenerative spell to help regenerate what he’d used up. Probably counterproductive, but it was the best he could do.

Another spell washed over him a second later, and he opened his eyes to meet Solas’s. The elf was frowning slightly, eyeing Hawke speculatively.

“Guard your thoughts,” Justice said, standing so close that Hawke’s skin tingled. “The Fade follows your will, Hawke.”

“Right.” Hawke didn’t point out that it didn’t help if his magic was reacting before he even realized what he was  _thinking_.

The loss of control was frightening. He wasn’t used to it. Control was so critically important – had always been – so this was just…

He could do this. It was just another obstacle.

He only needed to  _focus_.

Pulling away from Dorian, Hawke gave him a grateful nod when the other tilted his head questioningly, eyes worried. If it hadn’t been for him, Hawke would have fallen flat on his back.

“I’d be jealous,” Dorian said lightly, “but clearly you aren’t having fun.”

Hawke’s smile was tremulous. “No, it’s a blast. Really. Who doesn’t want to cast a spell while  _not_  casting a spell?”

“Is there any risk of possession?” Cassandra’s voice was tight.

It was Justice who answered before Hawke could, tone vehement. “ _No_. They would not dare.”

No one seemed to have an answer to that.

Once Hawke was certain that he was steady enough to keep moving, they picked their way through the rest of the ruined courtyard, red lyrium sprouting out of the walls like it did most everywhere else.

“Lyrium shouldn’t do that,” Dorian said, eyeing it warily.

“It’s red lyrium,” Varric said, as if it answered all questions. Which, Hawke supposed, it probably did.

“It’s like an infection,” Leliana answered flatly. “They feed it to you and let it grow. Once it consumes you entirely, they farm your body for more.”

Hawke said nothing, staring at her in horror because  _what the fuck_. How twisted could people get?

Dorian was less circumspect, swearing loudly. “ _Kaffas_. Is that what happened to you?”

“They tried with me.” Leliana didn’t meet their eyes, looking ahead. “But for some reason it failed. Divine providence, perhaps?” The words were bitter. “Whatever good it does.”

It hadn’t failed entirely judging from Leliana’s wasted appearance. Perhaps she wasn’t affected as the others were, but the lyrium had done  _something_  to her.

Probably affected by the horrific answer Leliana had given him, Dorian didn’t say anything else as they entered the castle’s living quarters.

It was here that Hawke realized people actually still  _lived_  in the castle. Granted, the one person they ran across apparently committed suicide before they could see who it was, but that couldn’t have been the castle’s only inhabitant.

The corpses didn’t count.

They ran into several other rifts, which were essentially a repeat of the one Hawke had closed outside. Only on the last rift he nearly accidentally fried Cassandra and Blackwall when they stood too close to the fireball that obliterated a cluster of demons. Justice ducked out of the way, seeming unconcerned with what had just happened.

They said nothing, simply staring at Hawke as he struggled to breathe and tell himself to  _calm down_.

“I have more control than this,” Hawke said a moment later. “Usually.”

“I would hope so,” Cassandra said, sounding more amused than upset.

The fight in a familiar looking hall went more smoothly, everyone else keeping clear of Hawke as he focused on a particular group of Venatori mages with extreme prejudice. It was easier to focus his thoughts on casting deliberate spells, regulating how much mana they took rather than the automatic spells that he’d been casting earlier.

Glyphs still decorated the floor, a result of the initial look he’d taken when evaluating what they were dealing with.

But everyone was dead, which had been the goal, and now they had a clear path to the door that led into the castle hall, which was where they had been before Alexius cast his spell. It was locked, and Hawke wasn’t entirely sure how to open it either.

“Where  _did_  Alexius get this?” Dorian pressed a hand to the door and ingenious lock, eyeing it speculatively. “There’s no way of getting past this without some kind of key, and he must have servants who bring him his food.”

“This guy has a shiny rock that looks like red lyrium,” Varric called, rooting through the pockets of a particularly well-dressed body. “Think it might be it?” He held up what looked like some kind of stone.

“It’s part of it,” Dorian said, whipping out a handkerchief and taking it from him, careful to not let his skin touch the lyrium. “The others must be scattered about.”

Hawke stepped back from the door and turned towards the room, eyes flicking between the doors on either side. There was the one they’d come through, and he was relatively sure there wasn’t anything in that direction.

Dorian gave a pleased exclamation. “The parts are linked, which is convenient, really. They’re all nearby.”

“We’ll split up,” Hawke said, looking back at the others.

Cassandra’s lips turned down. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

“I think it’s a better idea than me accidentally hurting one of you.” Hawke glanced at Justice. “I’ll be with Justice. The rest of you can split off or stay together.”

“Right, right.” Dorian gave Hawke a long look. “I see how it is.”

“We don’t bite,” Varric said. “Much.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” Hawke heard Dorian tell Varric as they separated.

“Who says it was supposed to be reassuring?”

Hawke didn’t catch Dorian’s response, the others on the other side of the hall now. He shot a look at Justice, who gazed back impassively through the helmet of his knight visage.

Inhaling slowly, Hawke pushed open the door, relieved when there was no one in the hallway on the other side. Justice stepped past him before he could move, pushing ahead silently.

Hawke followed, carefully sidestepping fallen rubble and glowing pieces of red lyrium. If there was one good thing about being stuck in a future where the Fade and living world were practically one and the same, at least he couldn’t sense the red lyrium all around.

The first room they entered only had two Venatori that Justice took care of before Hawke could react. Neither had the key they were looking for.

The next room they entered was a large library, although most of the books were strewn about on the floor. There were also more Venatori.

The mage went down first, Hawke hitting them with a fierce fireball that sent them over the edge of the railing they were standing by with a loud shriek. Justice rammed into the others that crawled up the stairs, blocking them from reaching the top.

Incidentally, he also blocked Hawke from reaching them. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was by design or accident.

When Justice viciously decapitated a particularly determined one that almost got past him and threw the body into another, Hawke decided it was by design.

And then he rained electricity down on all the surviving Venatori.

Justice spent a minute poking all of the bodies to be sure that they were actually dead before he let Hawke near them.

“I haven’t lost my touch with killing people,” Hawke grumbled, stooping to rifle through the pockets of one charbroiled body.

“It is always best to be certain,” Justice responded, taking a stance by the open door.

Hawke wasn’t entirely sure what Justice expected to happen. Someone getting the drop on him? Someone getting the drop on him and  _succeeding_?

It hadn’t happened in the present and it was even less likely to happen here with Hawke’s magic reacting before he could even clearly think about a spell.

Huffing, Hawke sifted through another body’s pockets. He didn’t strike gold until running into the heap of ashes that had been the mage he set on fire. The key was the only thing still intact in the pile.

Making a face, Hawke toed it out of the pile of ashes before gingerly picking it up with a ragged piece of cloth that he tore off from a nearby body, wrapping it up before putting it away.

“I probably shouldn’t set the next one on fire,” Hawke said when he met up with Justice. “Too much of a chance of me accidentally incinerating what we need.”

Justice tilted his head, not responding otherwise. But his form changed to Anders’s for a brief second before returning to the armored knight. “Incinerating is the least of what they deserve.” His tone was dark.

Hawke paused, eyeing him carefully. “Is that justice or vengeance?”

Justice didn’t respond as they walked through the dark hall. It wasn’t until they stopped in front of another door that he said quietly, “Can it not be both?”

The statement was surprising enough coming from  _Justice_  that Hawke was taken aback, blinking in stunned silence. Justice didn’t seem to want an answer, inclining his head in an indication that Hawke should open the door.

He did, still staring after Justice like it would suddenly make sense.

_“Can it not be both?”_

Sometimes it was, but a  _spirit_  never thought like that.

Refocusing, Hawke found that the room was a great deal larger than the last one. It looked like another library, but there weren’t any books on the shelves.

“I’ve got them,” Hawke whispered, reaching out to stop Justice from barreling down the stairs.

He reached for electricity, purposefully building the spell up instead of unleashing it automatically.

When it did hit the Venatori, Hawke spent a brief moment watching them flail and scream before realizing that one wasn’t reacting beyond what looked like mere annoyance. That one was also casting a spell.

Hawke couldn’t tell what kind of spell it was – not with the magic suffusing the air – but he realized a second later what had happened when there was a high-pitched otherworldly  _snarl_  from behind him.

He didn’t turn, but there was a blast of heat when he briefly thought  _fire_  and then Justice shouted, “ _You shall not have him_!”

All the warning Hawke had was the Fade prickling sharply at his skin, setting his hair on edge, and then he rolled behind a large pile of rubble, tucking his face into his knees. Yet the white light of Justice still pierced his eyes, oxygen becoming difficult to pull in with how saturated it was with energy.

There was screaming, but it was drowned out by the crackling of spirit energy. When silence fell and the light faded, Hawke didn’t immediately move, pulling himself back into his body and making sure that everything was still accounted for.

It wasn’t until he felt Justice come to stand by him that he twitched, noting that he’d somehow clamped his hands over his ears in the interim. Slowly bringing them down, Hawke turned his head, the first thing in his line of sight Justice’s face as Anders, eyes glowing with fire. He was crouching, frowning slightly as if he was concerned.

“Fire and brimstone done?” Hawke’s voice sounded strange to his ears, too quiet after what had just transpired.

Justice dipped his chin in a nod, still frowning.

Hawke spent another minute staring at Justice and waiting for him to say something before realizing he wouldn’t. Eventually, nodding curtly, Hawke gripped hold of the top of the rubble and pulled himself to his feet, unsurprised to see practically all the Venatori splattered in various shades of dismemberment across the floor and walls.

It did make finding the key notably easier, since it was the shiny thing on the floor. The only problem was the puddle of blood it was lying in.

Hawke wasn’t squeamish but…

Carefully picking it up with a rather bloody piece of cloth, Hawke spent a briefly moment wondering how he was going to stow this one before giving it up for lost and putting it in the same bag as the other one. Turning back to Justice, he found the spirit still looking at him but with a slightly pained look now.

“I could not let them have you,” Justice said finally, voice strained.

Hawke remembered similar words spoken on the very first night he had met Justice and seen him in action. “You said that before,” he said after a moment. “With Karl—”

“You are not Karl,” Justice interrupted. “Karl was an injustice. An injustice that could not be repeated. You are…” He trailed off, blinking.

Hawke offered a wry “Different?”, expecting agreement.

“Everything.”

Anything Hawke had lined up to say dried up in his throat at the serious tone Justice delivered the word in. When Justice said nothing else and it was clear that he  _would_  have to say something, Hawke managed a rather awful “So I’m not a distraction, then?”

“You were,” Justice admitted shamelessly. “Or I thought you would be. What we had to do…I thought you would be a distraction, that you would pull us away from the work we needed to do. Yet you didn’t. You helped, you supported us, and you accepted us as we were. Where others called us abomination and even Anders feared my nature, you did not see me as anything else but—”

“Justice,” Hawke said, swallowing thickly.

A small half-smile pulled at Justice’s lips, the smile painfully similar to Anders’s own but still different. “Indeed. You saw and accepted me as I am – accepted  _us_  even when we struggled to accept ourselves.” He paused, looking not at all like a formidable spirit of justice but rather more like a glowing man that just happened to be rather see-through. “You were no distraction,” he continued, pained.

“You keep saying that and I’m going to take it personally. I make a living on being distracting.”

Justice didn’t seem deterred, although he next said, “When I first came to this world, I inhabited the body of a dead Grey Warden. There were memories that came with it and emotions that I had not had cause to experience before. Kristoff had been married, and his love still remained with the body. I felt it and I also felt… _envy_.” He bowed his head. “The Warden-Commander told me that there was nothing wrong with wanting what they had. Yet I was a spirit in a corpse. How could I have that? And then I joined with Anders.

“You have no idea what it was like being joined with a living mortal. Our thoughts were one, as were our emotions. Except for when they were not.” Justice raised a hand, looking down at it and flexing the fingers. “Even now it is strange to be…myself. And yet…I have changed. Changed in a way spirits shouldn’t since I have experienced emotions they shouldn’t.” He met Hawke’s eyes. “I experienced love.” His voice was softly wondering.

There were no words for this. None that Hawke could think of, even if he could speak. He found it was all he could do to simply keep breathing.

“I was envious of Anders,” Justice said, holding Hawke’s gaze. “I was envious of you. But envy was something I couldn’t feel because that was for demons. So I convinced Anders you were a distraction, that it would be for the better if nothing happened. But it was a lie, and lies are what demons give.”

“Justice—”

“That you did not push me away made it easier. That you accepted me even when others did not was everything we didn’t expect. And when you were gone…” Justice stopped, shaking his head slightly as if dislodging something. “When we thought you dead…we both lost ourselves. It wasn’t simply Anders’s grief but my own that affected what happened afterwards. And when Anders sought to die, I allowed it.” The words were quiet. “But I am still here, even when all is lost.”

This was…this was everything Hawke hadn’t expected. He’d always thought that he and Justice had reached something of a truce, especially after Anders stopped talking about how Justice thought him a distraction (which had happened sometime in the three years after the Qunari left Kirkwall but he’d just thought it was Anders growing tired of beating his head against a brick wall that wouldn’t listen), but  _this_?

There was no way on earth he could have known this in the present, not with Justice and Anders bound as they were. But like this? With Justice wholly himself and in front of him?

Wetting his lips, Hawke managed a dry “Justice—”

“We should go,” Justice interrupted him, turning and heading to the exit. “The others will be waiting, and we need to confront Alexius.”

“Justice!” Hawke ran after him, reaching out to stop him. But his hand went straight through Justice’s arm, and it took a shocked second before he realized it was because he had used his right one.

“It matters not,” Justice said, not looking at Hawke.

“It doesn’t  _matter_? Justice, I’d say it  _matters_ —”

“You’re returning,” Justice said flatly. “Because that is  _all_  that matters here.”

“You think I don’t love you, too?” Hawke burst out, glad when the words had Justice’s head snapping in his direction. He softened his tone as he said, “How could I not? I don’t just love part of Anders, I love every piece of him. And you are part of him even when you’re not.”

“You…” Justice tilted his head, watching Hawke in slowly dawning wonder. “You do.”

Hawke reached out with his left hand, gently touching Justice’s cheek. “ _Yes_.”

Justice didn’t press into Hawke’s hand, his luminescent eyes on Hawke’s for a long moment. Eventually, he pulled in what looked like a breath and nodded once. “We should return to the hall,” he said quietly. “I’m sure the others are finished.”

Dissatisfied but unsure of how to otherwise push the matter, Hawke let his hand drop. “Probably.”

The rest of the walk to the main hall was in silence, and the others were already waiting by the door by the time they joined them.

“Getting slow in your old age?” Varric called.

“You know how it is. Just had to admire the sights. It’s not like I’ll see this when I go back.”

“I certainly hope not,” Cassandra said stiffly.

“Spoilsport,” Varric muttered, shaking his head.

“Yes, well.” Dorian cleared his throat, taking the bag Hawke handed him. “I assume you found the other pieces?”

Hawke just nodded, face blank until Dorian tipped the bag over and the two dirty pieces of cloth fell into his hand. His face was  _amazing_.

“Is this  _blood_?” Dorian sounded appalled.

“Sorry.” Hawke really wasn’t, but an apology was merited, wasn’t it?

Dorian gave him a narrow-eyed look. “You really aren’t.”

Hawke shrugged shamelessly, lips quirking into a small smile.

“Ugh.” Dorian shoved Hawke’s bag into his chest, not even waiting until Hawke caught it before pulling away and slipping the keys into the door. He deliberately wiped his fingers off on the stone when he was finished, not that it really helped considering the blood had somewhat dried by now.

It was only a few seconds before the keys lit up in a soft red, giving off a soft pulse of magic that was exactly like the red lyrium all around them. He was grateful that no one was looking at him at the moment. There was far too much going on, and he had very little idea of what was on his face right now.

Not with Alexius so close.

Hesitating slightly, Dorian pushed the doors open. The hall it revealed was remarkably intact compared to the one they were standing in, lit by a fire that crackled in the grate at the far end.

Alexius stood there, back to them as they approached.

Without the Fade twisting about itself and shrouding Alexius from view, Hawke could actually see his figure.

“He knew you would come back,” Alexius said when they were at the base of the stairs leading to the throne. “ _Champion_.”

Hawke’s breath caught in his throat at the sound of his calm voice, sudden rage and choking  _grief_  rising unexpectedly, his skin tingling. He sounded so blasé about everything, like he hadn’t just ruined the entire world.

He didn’t even realize what he was doing until Dorian grabbed hold of his arm. “Let’s try not to incinerate him immediately, yes?” he hissed, shaking Hawke once.

Blinking, Hawke realized that the tingles running up his skin weren’t because of his anger but because he was channeling enough electricity to down a large bear several times over. Forcing himself to breathe, Hawke swallowed back the anger and magic roiling under his skin, fingers digging into his skin as he clenched them into fists.

“What,” Hawke said slowly, somehow managing to keep the worst of his seething anger out of his tone, “have you done?”

“My final failure.” Alexius sounded distraught.

“ _That wasn’t an answer_.”

“Was it worth it?” Dorian asked, so much calmer than Hawke. “Everything you did to the world? To yourself?”

Alexius didn’t turn. “It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.”

“The end? The  _end_?” Hawke started forwards, only to be jerked backwards by Dorian. Perhaps just as well, since he couldn’t taste or smell anything  _but_  magic right now, his magic dangerously close to lashing out. “Like  _hell_! You’re going to fix this, Alexius. One way or the other.”

“The past cannot be undone,” Alexius said tonelessly. “All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and  _death_.” The words were spat out. “There is nothing else. The Elder One comes: for me, for you, for us all.”

“You said that before,” Hawke said, wrenching his arm out of Dorian’s grip. “ _The Elder One_. Who is he? What is his  _name_?”

“You know him,” Justice said, his helmeted head turning to Hawke.

Hawke didn’t look at him. “I want to hear him say it.”

Leliana jumped out of the shadows by the crouching figure at Alexius’s side, jerking the figure to their feet and holding a knife to their throat.

Alexius whirled with an alarmed cry, reaching out to her. “Felix!”

“That’s  _Felix_?” Dorian sounded stunned. “Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?”

“He would have  _died_ , Dorian!” Alexius said, not looking away from the wasted visage that was his son. “I  _saved_  him! Please, don’t hurt my son,” he pleaded. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Saved him?” Justice’s tone was scornful. “How did you  _save_  your son?”

Leliana stared Alexius down. “I want the world back,” she hissed, and slit Felix’s throat.

“No.” Alexius’s voice was horrified. His face twisted into a pained grimace. “ _No_!”

He brought his staff down with a clash of green magic, knocking Leliana off her feet. He whirled towards the others, a spell already flaring to life at his fingers.

Justice jumped forwards, throwing himself in front of Hawke, but there wasn’t any need.

There…wasn’t any need.

The world seemed to slow down, Hawke wrestling back the instinctive desire to just  _burn_ , focusing instead on  _binding_.

The paralysis glyph burst into life a split-second before Alexius’s spell went loose, freezing him in place as he triggered it. His spell went wide, Hawke ducking under the stray vestiges of its magic as he strode up to Alexius and knocked his staff out of his hand.

“The Elder One,” he said in a low voice, distantly aware that the Fade was so very, very  _bright_  and all he could smell and taste. “ _Who is he_?”

“You paralyzed him,” Cassandra said after a long moment of silence. “He can’t speak.”

Alexius’s eyes were wide, his throat muscles twitching futilely.

With a slow exhale, Hawke focused on relaxing the magic holding Alexius in place, rather surprised when it worked. It wouldn’t have done so back in the present. “Answer me.”

Something bright and smelling like pure magic jumped off Hawke and hit Alexius. He distantly realized that bright light was dancing over his skin, tingling even through his clothes.

“C-Corypheus,” Alexius breathed, voice strangled.

Hawke dipped his head, eyes falling shut as he inhaled. On the exhale, he opened them, fixing Alexius with a long look right before freezing him from the inside out. It was only an instant before ice crystals burst through Alexius’s skin, a faint groan the last noise he made before collapsing in a heap.

“Did that answer your question?” Varric asked after a stilted pause.

“Yes.” Hawke turned his back to the body, taking several steps away. The brightness surrounding him faded, and he found he could breathe a little easier without the Fade choking his senses. “I assume he has the amulet you need,” he said to Dorian.

Seeming to shake himself, Dorian jerked into movement. “Right.” He shot a furtive glance at Hawke, seemed to realize that Hawke was still watching him, and then looked at Alexius’s corpse.

His ears were ringing, Hawke realized. And his jaw was aching, probably from how tightly he was clenching it.

It was all so horribly  _senseless_.

Anders was dead, Varric infected with red lyrium and dying, and the rest of the world not much better off. And for what?

“I have it.” Dorian came up to Hawke’s side, holding up the green amulet that had been the cause of all this.

Hawke couldn’t look at it, nausea roiling in his stomach simply from being near it. He took several steps away before he could think, relieved when it helped settle some of the queasiness.

“It’s not going to bite,” Dorian said, confused. “At least not until I get it to work.”

“It’s – it’s not that.” Hawke took another step back, deliberately focusing elsewhere so that he didn’t have to see how wrong the Fade looked around the amulet. He felt ill just thinking about having to experience that again.

When Hawke didn’t explain further, Dorian sighed. “Give me an hour and I can work out the spell to send us back—”

The room shook, dust and rubble falling from the ceiling and clattering to the floor.

“You must go now!” Leliana snapped.

Faint howls sounded from outside the room, and the scent of magic and the Fade sharpened painfully, Hawke’s mouth stinging as he breathed it in. He was already  _in_  the Fade, so why did it keep doing this?

“The Elder One,” Leliana whispered, eyes on the ceiling.

“And company,” Varric said, glancing to the door.

Hawke looked at Dorian instinctively, regretting it the moment his vision swam with the amulet’s foul magic. “Can you figure it out?”

Dorian’s expression was flustered, eyes wide. “I’ll have to, won’t I?”

“We’ll hold them off,” Cassandra said, glancing at Varric, Blackwall, and Solas.

“No.” Justice stepped forward, the edges of his armored form flickering as he headed to the door. “Stay here.”

“Justice—”

“It’s only right,” Justice said, cutting Hawke off. “There is little else I can do, but here…I can protect you one last time.” His form flickered back to that of Anders. “I will not fail you again.”

Hawke could stand out there with Justice. He could fight the demons off as well. It was his first instinct to do so, to also offer to make that stand.

But this wasn’t his  _time_. And if he did that, then everything really would be lost.

Hawke closed the distance between them, stopping Justice from leaving. “You didn’t fail me before.”

Justice didn’t pull away from Hawke’s touch, his luminescent eyes bright. “Let me, Hawke. You know what you must do.”

Breathing was difficult, his chest feeling like it was caught in a vise grip. But Hawke held his gaze, tightening his grip where he was holding onto Justice, the mark flaring with the touch. “This isn’t going to happen,” he breathed, the words choked. “I promise. There will be  _justice_.”

Justice tilted his head. “I have no doubt.”

He turned, arm slowly slipping out of Hawke’s grip, but there was the feeling that this  _shouldn’t be it_. He couldn’t just leave Justice to go off like this.

But there was only one hand he could touch Justice with, the mark the only reason he could even make contact—

 _But he could pull the magic out_.

There was no finesse as Hawke pressed fingers to the mark and pulled green Fade magic out, clasping it in his right hand for a brief second before bringing it to his mouth and bidding it to  _stay_. His mouth tingled unfamiliarly, feeling like it didn’t quite belong even as he reached out to pull Justice back with  _both_  hands.

It shouldn’t have worked – Justice was a spirit with a spirit’s strength – but surprise was on his side. Justice turned, the armor fading back to that of a human appearance a second before Hawke kissed him.

It wasn’t at all like kissing Anders. Hawke wasn’t sure why he’d expected that, since Justice didn’t even  _feel_  like Anders.

Pure spirit energy surged through him at the contact, setting his nerves on fire. He had Justice’s head in his hands, almost able to feel the hair that he could see. It wasn’t Anders, but  _he looked like Anders_.

And yet he wasn’t kissing Justice because of that.

Justice didn’t seem to know how to respond, pure shock and surprise radiating from him. But he wasn’t pulling away, and some seconds later, he tentatively pushed back, right before Hawke withdrew entirely.

Mouth tingling and magic sparking across his skin, Hawke said, “I swear, it’s going to be fine. I won’t let this happen.”

There was a long moment interspersed by the demons’ howls before Justice spoke, pressing in close, an unexpected determination in his tone. “I know you won’t.” He tipped his head close to Hawke’s ear, voice a whisper now. “Watch the elf. He isn’t what he seems.”

There was no time for Hawke to respond. Justice trailed fingers across Hawke’s cheek, not quite making contact but close enough that the energy tickled his skin. And then he was gone, slipping through the door

Hawke was left staring after him, confusion the only thing he could really register out of the roiling mess of emotions tightening his chest and making it difficult to breathe. Unthinkingly, he let the last of the Fade magic go, not even watching it drift into the air to disappear.

Watch the elf?

Slowly, hesitantly, Hawke turned around, eyes lingering on Solas almost against his better instincts. Like he’d noticed before, the Fade hugged closely to him, far more than it had in the present. Almost as if it was a second skin, even if Solas didn’t seem to have the mishaps Hawke did.

Tilting his head, Solas raised his eyebrows questioningly.

With a small shake, Hawke forced himself to step away from the door, away from Justice and the sounds of the encroaching demons, and towards Dorian, who was concentrating on the amulet.

Blackwall shot him a sympathetic look, eyes dark despite the feverish red light in their depths. Cassandra didn’t meet his eyes at all, resolutely looking at the floor with a grim expression.

When she met his gaze, Leliana inclined her head, closing her eyes and whispering something that sounded like the Chant of Light.

“Romantic as always, huh?” Varric said when Hawke walked by him. His smile was rueful. “It’ll be okay, Hawke.”

Hawke wasn’t sure he could speak, if anything coherent would come out if he even tried. His throat was too thick, his vision swimming strangely in a way that had nothing to do with the strange quagmire of the Fade and the waking world they were living in.

“Almost,” Dorian called, the amulet floating several inches above his hand. He had his staff in his other, magic glowing at the tip as he frowned down at the necklace.

Shooting Varric one last look, Hawke resisted the urge to touch his shoulder, knowing that it wouldn’t be the best idea. He went to join Dorian, deliberately keeping his back to the hall and keeping his eyes on the fire still burning in the grate.

The Fade was twisting around him, tugging and pulling in ways that it shouldn’t. It was a struggle to remain upright, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth hurt in a distant, abstract way.

There were moments where the Fade bit sharply at his skin, and he could sense the energy Justice was giving off outside the room. He didn’t need to hear the howls of the demons to know what was happening.

He hoped Dorian hurried with the spell. He wasn’t sure if he could—

An otherworldly scream filled the air, but it was the energy backlash that had Hawke cringing, shoulders inching up to his ears as he desperately told himself it would be fine.

It had to be fine.

The room shook around them, cracks splintering the ceiling and walls. Hawke instinctively reached out to grab hold of Dorian’s shoulder, keeping both of them on their feet as the magic reached its peak.

This time when the confused pulling and tugging of the Fade began to pull him  _back_ , Hawke let it happen.

* * *

_The door was open, but he wasn’t entirely sure that Anders would come. He **should** , since no one kissed someone like that unless they loved them, right? It didn’t make sense otherwise._

_But maybe he wouldn’t. It had been difficult to tell what Anders thought over the last two years._

_So when he heard Anders’s familiar footsteps and his senses tingled with the Fade around and in Anders, he couldn’t help but slump in relief._

_“You’re here.” His tone was nothing but relieved. “I didn’t think you’d come.”_

_“The door was open.” Anders had a small half-smile on his face as he came closer until he was close enough to touch. “I said I would, didn’t I?”_

_“I didn’t know.” He reached out to touch, because that was all right now, wasn’t it? Anders didn’t react in any negative way when his fingers touched his cheek, so he supposed it was fine. “My door was always open,” he added quietly._

_Anders didn’t say anything, pressing in for a fierce kiss that took his breath away. It was dizzying, and he almost didn’t realize that they were moving until he fell backwards on the bed._

_It was too fast, and he wasn’t sure what they were doing. He leaned back, putting enough space between them to manage a breathless, “Wait, wait.”_

_Anders did, his body a comfortable weight against his own. “Is everything all right? You want this, don’t you?”_

_“I **do** , but…can we just…go slowly?”_

_A complicated expression crossed Anders’s face, something like confusion. “Two years wasn’t slow enough?”_

_It was and it wasn’t. He didn’t want to do this fast now that he actually **had**  this. “Ages,” he quipped, grinning up at Anders. He sobered an instant later. “But I want to take this slowly. Is that so bad?”_

_“You don’t make any sense,” Anders said, brow furrowing._

_That…was a good thing, wasn’t it? “I wouldn’t want to be boring.”_

_Anders didn’t smile, a furrow between his eyebrows that he wanted to smooth out. “You couldn’t make it easy, could you?” he said quietly, almost as if to himself._

_There was a sinking feeling in his chest. “What?”_

_Anders rolled off, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “I thought I could have this just once.” He leaned over, holding his head in his hands. The next words were muffled. “But I can’t.”_

_He sat up, hesitantly reaching out to touch Anders but unsure if the touch would be welcome. “What are you talking about?”_

_“I’ve wanted this,” Anders said sharply, head snapping up and around to meet his eyes. “I’ve wanted this for **two years**. But I didn’t know if you were serious or just wanting a one-off. I can’t do a one-off, Hawke. Not with you, and not like this.”_

_“Who said I just wanted it once?” He grabbed hold of Anders’s hand before he could move, desperately needing to touch. “I’m serious – I **told**  you I’m serious—”_

_Anders looked disbelieving. “How could I know? The things you said…”_

_“Was it…not right?” How had whatever he said been misinterpreted this badly? “I thought you liked it.”_

_“I did like it, but I never knew if you were serious or joking.” Anders’s smile was self-deprecating. “You joke a lot.”_

_“I wouldn’t joke about this.” He didn’t know how else to put it so that Anders would know exactly how serious he was. “Anders…in all the time you’ve known me, have you ever seen me ‘joke’ like that with someone else?”_

_Slowly tilting his head, Anders closed his eyes. “No,” he breathed._

_“It’s just been you,” he said quietly, glad when his voice didn’t tremble. “Only you.”_

_Anders opened his eyes, meeting his own. For an instant they were brighter than usual, then they were Anders’s normal hue. “Justice doesn’t approve.” He said it like an afterthought, like it wasn’t important Justice approved as well. “He thinks you’re a distraction.”_

_He found he had some difficulties breathing, hoping, hoping, **hoping** —_

_His voice stuck in his throat, so all he could do was press his face into Anders’s hand, trusting it conveyed what he couldn’t say._

_“L…Hawke?” Anders’s voice trembled slightly._

_Forcing a breath and then another, he managed to say, “I don’t want to be one. A distraction.” He closed his eyes, turning his face into the warmth of Anders’s fingers. “What do **you**  think?”_

_“I think…” Anders’s voice sounded very close now, and his hand gently turned his face to the side. “I think I’ve wanted this for two years. I think you’ve stood by my side all this time, and you haven’t shied away. I think you’re wonderful and too ridiculous for your own good. And I **know** …I love you.”_

_This time when Anders kissed him, it was gentle, the hand cupping his face pulling him forwards. Shivering, he went, still clutching Anders’s right hand in his own._

_The hand cupping his face suddenly sparked with heat and warmth, the Fade seeming to sink into his skin. It was like someone else was touching him, curious and wondering and without any idea that he could **feel**  them._

_It felt like Justice – Justice as he was in Anders when nothing was wrong._

_Anders pushed him down onto the bed, but he didn’t roll on top, pulling him to the side so they could continue kissing. He relaxed into it, pressing as close as he could and unable to stop the reflexive shivering as Anders’s warmth sank into his own, both physically and spiritually._

_“I love you,” he gasped in the space between them, pressing his forehead to Anders’s. He had his eyes tightly shut, terrified of what he would see on Anders’s face. “I do. I’ve never—” He broke off, not quite sure how to **say**  that it had only ever been Anders for him, when Anders had so many others before._

_“What, love?” Anders untangled their fingers, stroking his hair back gently. The endearment had warmth kindling in his chest, melting the knot that had formed._

_He forced his eyes open. Anders deserved that much. “It’s only been you,” he said in a forced rush. “Only you.”_

_Anders’s eyes widened slightly, his breath escaping in a quiet “oh.”_

_He curled his fingers in Anders’s robes, needing something to hold onto. “Yes.”_

_The smile that spread across Anders’s face held no judgment, simply a quiet wonder and happiness that he hadn’t seen before. “All right. We’re taking it slow, right?”_

_Nodding jerkily, he breathed out shakily as Anders pressed in again to kiss him, relief spreading through him when he realized it was fine. He dared to wrap an arm around Anders, pulling him closer because it wasn’t enough._

_And it wasn’t just fine._

_It was perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is so terrible at flirting that he has trouble coming across seriously. So...yeah. But it works out! And not quite in the way Varric tells us because _hey_. Although you'll note there are some lines from the game, because Varric wasn't _that_ out of the loop. (He eavesdropped.)
> 
> As for the rest of this! Justice has a lot to tell Hawke, and now Hawke knows a lot more than he did before. Justice has really been one of the characters I've enjoyed shedding a light on, even though he doesn't get that many lines compared to the others.
> 
> How'd you like it? Next chapter should be up in two weeks. :D (I need to start writing in this again...


	8. Haven III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I kept thinking it was Thursday today? But it's Friday, and it's been two weeks, so here's another chapter! It's another long one, and there's a lot happening in here. Not as much as before, but still a lot. Along with some more familiar faces!
> 
> I'm so glad you guys enjoyed the last chapter! It was one chapter that I _really_ enjoyed writing, so I'm thrilled you enjoyed it. I hope you enjoy this one as well!
> 
> The flashbacks in this chapter take place in a vague, fuzzy period before Act 2 of _Dragon Age 2_ begins, and thus they come before the flashbacks of last chapter. I have no hard dates set, so it's whenever works. (Hard dates make it far too easy to mess up.)

_He’d waited and waited for Anders to bring it up, but he never did. It wasn’t as if Anders hid it, but he also didn’t make any effort at including him either._

_It bothered him, because didn’t Anders think that he would **help** them? He was a mage, too, even if he didn’t understand what it was like to be locked away for having magic._

_So when Anders didn’t bring up his rather illicit activities at night, he did it himself. Granted, it took some psyching up in front of a mirror and telling himself to not mess up his words or say anything hideously embarrassing before he went to Darktown and Anders’s clinic._

_Anders was busy taking care of a mother and her child when he came in, so he waited until the two left before attempting to make small talk such as saying hello._

_“I want to help with the mage underground.” Or not make small talk, since that had not been what he’d wanted to say initially._

_Anders didn’t seem insulted, eyebrows flying up in surprise. “What?”_

_“Incidentally,” he said, swallowing, “hi.”_

_“Hi?” Anders tilted his head, visibly confused now._

_Burning with embarrassment that he hoped wasn’t visible, he repeated, “I want to help with the mage underground.”_

_The confusion disappeared, replaced by a small frown. “Hawke, you shouldn’t involve yourself with this.”_

_“Why shouldn’t I?”_

_“You’re a noble in the public eye of Kirkwall. The slightest misstep could mean they find out who you are. It could mean you being made **Tranquil**.”_

_He shoved down the visceral horror at the idea, holding Anders’s gaze. “They won’t find out. Even if they did, do you think that would stop me from helping you? From helping the mages here?”_

_Anders didn’t respond immediately, his face troubled. “You’d help even if I said no, wouldn’t you? Do you have absolutely no sense of self-preservation?”_

_“I could ask the same of you, you know,” he said, smiling wryly. “Who is it who wanted to meet a friend in the **Chantry**? Who runs a healer’s clinic in Darktown?”_

_“You’ve made your point.” Anders’s mouth twisted. “You and I…we aren’t the same.”_

_“I must have missed the part where you’re not human or a mage.”_

_“I’m **possessed** by a spirit,” Anders said. “I’m an abomination.”_

_“You’re not—”_

_“You have your mother to take care of,” Anders continued, cutting him off. “You have your brother. Me?” His smile was rueful. “I don’t. This”—he gestured around him—“is all I have.”_

_His heart hurt, and he wanted to reach out and pull Anders into an embrace. He didn’t, keeping his hands to himself. “You think I wouldn’t miss you if something happened? You’re not expendable, Anders.”_

_“Maybe not expendable, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Anders shook his head. “I’m not planning on dying or letting them capture me, but if it **does** …it wouldn’t be a great loss.”_

_Wouldn’t it?_

_He could scarcely imagine his life without Anders in it now. Him dying was inconceivable and not something he could let happen._

_“Right,” he said eventually, “I suppose I’ll just get over the hole you’ll leave, is that right?” His tone was bitterer than he’d meant it to be, and Anders’s eyes widened._

_“Hawke—”_

_“No,” he snapped, unable to keep the hurt out of his tone. “You don’t get to **say** that! Do you think I wouldn’t notice if you were dead? Do you think that your life is so inconsequential that **no one** would notice you’re gone? Because **I would**. Does that mean nothing to you?” He choked back the **You mean the world to me, you daft idiot** because it wasn’t the time for that._

_“Your life isn’t worth less than mine, and my life isn’t worth more than anyone else’s. I can help, and I damn well **want** to because me sitting up in Hightown isn’t doing anyone any good. You don’t have to do this alone, and you shouldn’t have to.” He held Anders’s stunned gaze. “I want to help with the mage underground. Will you let me, or will I have to figure out some other way to join?”_

_“I…” Anders blinked, his cheeks slightly red. “All right.” He blinked, visibly swallowing. “I’ll let the others know.” He dropped his voice, asking, “You’re certain?”_

_“I am,” he said steadily, since he would always be certain if it meant helping Anders do good._

_And he kept that certainty, even when he met Carver one night when they were helping a group of mages escape. And when Carver cornered him in his house the next morning._

_“Why couldn’t you just stay in Hightown?”_

_“Hello, Carver, yes, I’m doing fine. How are you?”_

_“Come off it.” Carver didn’t look at all impressed. “Why couldn’t you stay out of it?”_

_He didn’t have to ask what Carver was talking about. Last night was still all too clear. “You know I can’t do that.”_

_“I **know** , it’s just—” Carver made an aggravated noise. “I could hope, couldn’t I? Here was something **I** could do, and now you’re in it, too.”_

_He dipped his head, eyes on the fire burning in the grate. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes.” Truth be told, he hadn’t the faintest clue that Carver had even been invested in the mage underground. And certainly not to the extent he was._

_“You mean you didn’t know what I was doing? Anders didn’t tell you?” Carver sounded surprised. “Did you think I joined the templars just for kicks?”_

_“I don’t know, Carver. Why don’t you tell me?” he bit out. “You didn’t give much of an explanation at all.”_

_“I…” Carver withdrew, footsteps loud as he paced back and forth. “You’re right.”_

_He dropped his arms, blinking back at Carver. “Did you just say I’m right?”_

_“Don’t get used to it,” Carver shot back. “Look, I…I needed to do **something** , all right? At first it was just because I needed to do something for myself, but then I realized what was happening. And I knew I could help. So why shouldn’t I?” He didn’t meet his eyes, picking at the cloth on his wrist. He wasn’t wearing the armor today, which was something to be grateful for._

_“You could have said just that,” he said eventually, turning to face Carver fully. “I would have understood.”_

_“No, you wouldn’t have.” Carver said it like was a fact. “But that’s fine. I’m not here because of that.”_

_“Oh?” He folded his arms over his chest, shrugging loosely. “So you’re not here to kick me out?”_

_“You’d only wiggle your way back in.” Carver made a face. “And I’d be a fool to refuse your help. No, I’m here because if you’re going to do this, you need to know how to deal with templars. We haven’t run into trouble yet, but we might.”_

_Given his usual methods of dealing with templars entailed running away or pretending he wasn’t a mage, he could see the point. “I can take care of myself.”_

_“Not against a smite you can’t. Or a cleanse,” Carver said flatly. “You’re good, brother, but you haven’t ever experienced something like that. It’ll knock even **you** flat on your ass.”_

_“Are you volunteering?”_

_Carver’s smile was rather sharp. “Yes. We can do it on the Wounded Coast; there’re places to hide that the templars haven’t found.”_

_After a moment’s thought, he agreed. Carver had a point, and it was always good to figure out his enemy’s weaknesses. He’d been lucky so far, but there was no guarantee of that lasting._

* * *

Although he was more prepared for how it felt now, it was still disorienting and nauseating to feel the Fade pulling and  _pulling_ , everything around him swirling in ways that made him dizzy. He wanted to close his eyes, but he had the feeling that if he did he would be lost in this dizzying whirlpool forever.

Hawke stumbled onto solid ground what felt like an eternity later, managing to keep his balance and not fall flat on his face like he had when he’d been thrown a year into the future.

It was a second before he heard Dorian step smoothly into place besides him, apparently unfazed by having been pulled back through time.

Hawke spent a moment reorienting himself, noting that the scene looked virtually unchanged from when Alexius had cast the initial spell. The air tasted different, no longer saturated with magic and the Fade. He could feel the Veil as well, which had been nonexistent in that future.

Worst, it felt like he’d lost another sense, even though he  _hadn’t_. Magic still burned under his skin, but it was tempered, no longer jumping at the slightest of thoughts. The Fade still whispered to him, but it was muffled, and it no longer brushed against his skin like it had before.

But it was fine –  _fine_. He was still in one piece and everything was  _back to normal_.

Alexius stood before them, that damn amulet clutched in his hands. The Fade continued to twist disgustingly around him, but Hawke was beyond feeling nauseous.

Hawke wasn’t sure what he was thinking, or if he  _was_  even thinking. Everything  _hurt_  and he couldn’t focus on anything other than  _Alexius standing there_. Because he was responsible for that wretched future they had seen and the one that would  _never happen_.

Because it couldn’t.

Hawke didn’t give him a chance to use the amulet again, lunging forward and punching Alexius in the face before he could respond. He went down with a pained cry, the amulet falling from his lax fingers as he clutched at his face. Coming in such close contact with the roiling Fade around Alexius had his own stomach twisting in response, but Hawke shoved it down, focused on Alexius and the amulet.

Hawke almost stepped on it but stopped at the last second, unsure of what would happen if he did destroy something so heavily tied into manipulating  _time_.

Before he could rethink it, he kicked it backwards to where Dorian was standing, stepping forward to grab hold of Alexius’s robes and haul him upright to his feet. He slammed him into the nearest flat surface a second later, a grim satisfaction curling through him at the pained grimace that flashed across Alexius’s face.

Somehow a dagger was at Alexius’s throat; Hawke didn’t even remember drawing it.

The whole thing had taken barely any time at all, everyone too stunned to react to what had just happened.

“Herald!” Cassandra sounded startled.

Hawke ignored her, eyes on Alexius’s wide ones. “ _How dare you_.”

“What?” Alexius gasped.

“You killed them.” Hawke pressed harder against Alexius with the hand on his chest, vindictively satisfied when the other flinched at the pressure. “You— “ He broke off before his voice could crack, the echoes of Justice’s last scream ringing through his ears, skin still tingling from the ensuing energy backlash.

He pulled in a shaky breath, curling his fingers in tighter where they were fisting Alexius’s robes. There was no hiding the way his shoulders shook or that the dagger was trembling slightly, his body unsure of what to deal with first.

“I killed no one,” Alexius protested feebly, leaning his head against the wall and as far away from Hawke as possible.

“This isn’t a joke,” Hawke snarled, a spark of electricity jolting from his hand before he could stop it. Alexius started in surprise, breath catching audibly. “You know  _exactly_  what you just did, Alexius. Who did you blindly choose to follow that destroyed the fucking  _world_?!”

“He already told you,” Dorian protested.

Hawke didn’t answer, eyes on Alexius, holding him tightly against the wall.

“The Elder One,” Alexius said several agonizing seconds later, words stilted, “will destroy you all.”

“That isn’t a  _name_. You wouldn’t have followed a meaningless title.”

Alexius flinched as the dagger pressed into the delicate skin at his neck. “Y-you—”

This time Hawke let the electricity go purposefully, directing it to Alexius’s heart. He felt the way it skipped several beats, its rhythm sent off kilter. Watching Alexius’s face twist in pain didn’t help alleviate the heat burning under his skin.

Alexius’s eyes widened, something flickering in their depths. “H-H—”

“That isn’t it,” Hawke said softly.

“Corypheus,” Alexius blurted out an instant later.

A pin could have dropped in the silence that followed, but Hawke wouldn’t have heard it, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears all he could hear over Alexius’s rapid breathing. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat, bidding the nausea to  _go away_.

“That enough evidence for you, Seeker?” Varric asked a few moments later, voice strained.

“You followed a darkspawn magister and destroyed the world,” Hawke said slowly, forcing the words out slowly and evenly, “and for what? You killed—”

“He would have saved my son!” Alexius’s voice was just as torn as it had been in the future. “He’s going to die!”

It was Felix who spoke before Hawke could. “Everyone dies, Father. I never wanted this.”

“Darkspawn don’t heal the blight,” Hawke said, his dagger cutting a thin line into Alexius’s throat. Blood welled from the cut, glistening dully. “They  _cause_  it. And you – you almost doomed us all. You’re  _damn_  lucky that we could come back. But you? You shouldn’t—”

“Ha – Herald!” Dorian’s voice had him freezing before he could finish. “Don’t kill him.”

Don’t…? After everything Alexius had  _done_?

Anders was dead,  _Justice_  was—

But no – they were alive now, weren’t they? Hawke could feel Anders behind him if he focused, alive and that unique mixture of human and spirit.

Alexius hadn’t done anything yet, although he had tried. And he hadn’t even tried to cast a spell against Hawke, even though he had ample opportunity if he really wanted to.

With a forceful exhale, Hawke jerked away from Alexius, spinning on his heel and putting distance between them.

He was past Orsino and Fiona when he whirled, the dagger flying through the air and embedding itself in the stone right next to Alexius’s head. “Try  _anything_  like that again, and next time that will be in your head.”

Alexius didn’t seem to have a response to that beyond wide eyes that didn’t fill Hawke with a sense of satisfaction.

No, it was just…

He ignored the guards going to Alexius to take him into custody on Cassandra’s brisk order, eyes going to Fiona. “The Inquisition could still use the help of the rebel mages.” His voice was amazingly even, no sign of anything but pure professionalism.

“I…” Fiona closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I will not have my people back in the arms of the Chantry.”

Maker’s breath, they  _weren’t_ —

“Yet you would deliver us to a man who would do no better,” Orsino said before Hawke could muster the energy to respond. “I did not lead my people from one form of slavery for you to bring us to another, Fiona. I joined you because I believed you would make the right choices for us, but this…” His lips pressed into a thin line. “If you don’t join the Inquisition…” He turned to Hawke. “You have the aid of my people, Herald.”

“And you say you aren’t a First Enchanter,” Dorian muttered.

Fiona didn’t say anything for a long moment, gaze on Hawke. “Are you with the Chantry?” she asked.

“No,” Hawke answered. “And we won’t be.”

“What are you offering us?”

Hawke didn’t look back at Cassandra, knowing full well what her thoughts were on the matter. “An alliance. We need your help to close the Breach; I won’t force it if you aren’t willing to give it.”

“You have my mages’ aid should you wish it,” Orsino said, not looking at Fiona. “Even if the Grand Enchanter refuses.”

Fiona didn’t respond immediately, her hands curled into fists at her sides. When she did, it was pained. “I cannot leave my people here, not with the templars threatening our safety. I accept the Inquisition’s offer.”

The words didn’t bring the relief Hawke expected they would, but he managed a smile nonetheless. “Thank you. We’ll be expecting you in Haven.”

Throat burning, Hawke took a slow step back, pressing his left hand against his thigh as he dug the nails of his right into his palm. Breathe,  _breathe_ —

“Excuse me.” He wasn’t sure how the words sounded, but they must have been awful judging from the stricken expressions on the others’ faces.

Turning on his heel, Hawke fled the room, turning down the first private side passage he found and into the shadows. He slid down into a heap at the base of the wall, barely aware of the pain lancing up his back at the sharp impact of the fall.

Breathe, breathe,  _breathe_ —

Hawke wasn’t entirely sure what happened, only that he was struggling to  _breathe_ , his heart pounding too fast in his chest and everything feeling like it was swallowing him whole.

They were dead, but they weren’t, were they? They were here, Anders was here, Justice was here, the world hadn’t gone to shit—

“Love, Hawke,  _breathe_ , it’s all right—”

Something warm and familiar embraced him, and he clung back fiercely, lungs not quite catching enough air even though he was sure that he  _was_  breathing.

“—slowly, love, it’s fine—”

What felt like the Fade but far more intimate pressed against his skin, curling around him and whispering comfort. It felt like Justice, but there was a tinge of worry and confusion there that Hawke had never felt from the spirit before.

“Shh.”

Slowly, chest hurting and breath still coming too fast to be normal, Hawke pulled himself together. That warm touch and the intimate touch of the Fade lingered, and Hawke realized that he was leaning heavily into Anders, clutching at the other’s clothes with a fierce intensity that had his fingers aching.

He was alive. Alive and breathing and running a hand over Hawke’s back soothingly, murmuring reassuring words under his breath.

It was all right, Hawke realized, his breathing finally slowing. That future wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t  _let_  it happen.

“Anders.” Hawke exhaled slowly, turning his head so his ear was pressed to Anders’s chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart for several long seconds.

Anders didn’t stop stroking Hawke’s back. “Are you back now?”

“I…yes.” Hawke closed his eyes, deliberately focusing on counting the beats instead of the whirlpool of emotions that he could still feel brewing under the surface. “What are you doing here?” he asked a moment later.

“Did you think I wouldn’t follow you when you had that look on your face?” Anders brushed his lips over Hawke’s temple, breath warm against his skin. “Dorian told me to go as well, so I did.” He sounded slightly bemused. “What happened?”

“I—” The words choked in his throat, his chest tightening threateningly.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Anders said hurriedly, his hand coming up to cup the back of Hawke’s head reassuringly. “Besides…this might not be the best place for it.”

That was true. They were in Redcliffe Castle, even if Hawke had managed to find a relatively private place hidden away in the shadows.

If they were found out…

Well, to be honest, Hawke really couldn’t care less at this point, even if he  _should_.

But Anders had a point, and they couldn’t stay here forever.

Letting himself indulge in Anders’s warmth for a few more seconds, Hawke finally mustered the will to pull away, running a hand through his hair as he sat upright.

“All right,” he breathed. “Let’s try this again.”

It was no worse than anything else he had done before, after all.

* * *

Making arrangements for how the mages would get to Haven was tiring. As was just keeping it together, since Hawke had to check himself every time he reached out to touch Anders.

It wasn’t the time, he kept reminding himself. Not here.

They hadn’t made a big fuss about him being  _Hawke_  in the future, but then there hadn’t really been anything to fuss over. It wasn’t like there had been anything they could do when they knew he wasn’t really a Trevelyan with all the appropriate law-enforcing institutions destroyed.

But here… There was no telling what they would do if they found out.

The Champion of Kirkwall was a wanted man, and Hawke wasn’t inclined to let himself be arrested. Or conscripted into service for the Inquisition.

Sure, he’d make a break for it if that happened, but it would be annoying if it came to that. It would also make closing the Breach a great deal more difficult than it had to be.

No, it was better that they didn’t know who he was. It meant he could leave when he needed to once the Breach was taken care of. Granted, the shiny mark on his hand was an issue, but Hawke was relatively sure he could figure something out.

Relatively sure.

In any case, that decision meant he had to make sure he didn’t do anything that would incriminate him. Like reach out and touch Anders when it didn’t make sense for their relationship.

Looking at him would have to be enough. Especially since Anders was solid and not glowing or randomly turning into a knight. Although from the way Dorian kept shooting him glances, it looked like someone thought Anders should be glowing and spitting fire.

Or maybe that was just Hawke projecting.

“We need to stop by my camp,” Anders said when they were at Redcliffe’s gates. He ignored the pointed glares the guards were shooting Hawke. “There’re some things I need to pick up.”

“Is it far from here?” Cassandra asked.

“It’s up that hill.”

As it turned out, Anders’s camp wasn’t really a camp.

“Did you build this with magic?” Varric asked dryly.

“Of course not.” Anders pushed open the door – which was unlocked – and went inside. “No one was using it, so it wasn’t like I was kicking anyone out,” he said loudly.

Varric looked at Hawke. “Your  _contact_  is a squatter.”

“I resent that,” Anders said, coming back out with a pack at his back and his own staff next to the Key. “I prefer the term ‘resourceful.’”

“You have another staff?” Blackwall sounded surprised.

“It’s good to have a backup,” Anders said, shrugging. “Besides, some staffs have different elemental types.”

The Key was electricity, but Anders preferred more spirit-based magic. Either way, it didn’t really matter. The only problem was that Hawke occasionally broke staffs by being too brutal with them.

Aveline had more than once told him that staffs weren’t swords and he couldn’t hit people with them, but that had typically been his first resort whenever someone came too close for comfort. She’d offered him a shield one time, but that had gone badly when he’d held it wrong and broken his arm when blocking an attack.

Anders had been snippy with Aveline for days after that, even though it hadn’t been her fault.

“What do you like?” Dorian sounded interested. “I prefer fire myself.”

Anders shot him a look. “Spirit, but I do like a good fireball. They tend to burn nicely.”

“Can you take over official fire duties, then?” Varric asked. “It would spare me having to see Seeker swear over the tinder.”

Cassandra made a scandalized noise. “I don’t  _swear_ —”

“No.” Anders closed the hut’s door behind him. “I wouldn’t want to take away your entertainment.”

Snorting, Hawke quickly covered it with a cough. Judging from the glare Cassandra shot him, it didn’t fool anyone.

“I could do it,” Blackwall offered after a moment. “It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Cassandra’s nose wrinkled, her mouth pursing briefly. Then, reluctantly, she said, “That would be appreciated, thank you. I have never managed to do it properly.”

Hawke waited until Anders was back at his side before striking off for the main camp they had made in the Hinterlands. He didn’t reach out to touch, but Anders was close enough to feel, and that would have to be enough for now.

* * *

He couldn’t sleep. Not because he wasn’t tired – because he was – but simply because when he closed his eyes and drifted off, everything that he’d seen rushed to the forefront. His dreams weren’t dreams, more like memories twisted to become the worst possible outcome.

Dorian unable to get the amulet to work, leaving them stranded in that devastated future with no way to fix what had happened. Everyone dying, dead, and he was the last one alive.

_Corypheus rising from his prison to fix him with baleful eyes. “You are what held me. I smell the blood in you.”_

Briskly shaking his head, Hawke crouched by the dying fire, coaxing it back to life with a small spell. He modulated the ferocity, making sure to bring it back slowly rather than in one great rush.

The rush of magic calmed him, soothing in its familiarity. It wasn’t like the onslaught it had been in the future, wildly out of control and leaping at his every thought. He thought he could reach for that if he tried now, but the idea was frightening.

And also exhausting, as the Veil was still there.

Glancing down at the dormant mark on his hand, Hawke flexed his fingers. It was quiet now instead of constantly flaring the way it had in the future.

It was another reason he couldn’t sleep, since he and Anders had mutually agreed to sleep on opposite ends of the tent, Varric in the middle. Perhaps ridiculous, but there was too high of a likelihood of someone catching something incriminating, such as Anders lighting up in a way humans shouldn’t because Hawke touched him with the wrong hand.

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier because he couldn’t just reach out and touch Anders to be sure that he was still alive and present. Yes, he could  _feel_  him, but there was nothing like actually physically touching someone. He was only human.

Solas’s quiet voice was a surprise, one that had Hawke starting. “Can’t sleep?”

Hawke shook his head, not taking his eyes off the fire. He didn’t miss Solas taking a seat directly opposite him.

“Why are you awake?” Hawke asked after several minutes.

“I felt the disturbance in the Fade,” Solas said. “It’s difficult to miss when another is having nightmares.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting strangely in the firelight. “Were you truly in the future?”

_“Watch the elf. He isn’t what he seems.”_

What had Justice meant?

Hawke wished he’d had time to ask him, ask why Justice hadn’t said anything sooner, but he couldn’t. All he had now was a warning that he intended to take to heart, even if he didn’t know what he would do with it.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he said finally. “I know what those feel like.”

Solas made a considering noise. “Fascinating, but certainly dangerous. And certainly useful if what you saw is true.”

“It’s true to a point,” Hawke said, words clipped. “Because that won’t be happening again.”

Even if the others had listened to their tale with disbelief, there had been a general consensus that they had to make certain it _wouldn’t_  happen. Cassandra hadn’t written anything concrete in her letter to Haven aside from updating them on the current status.

Hawke was relatively certain Cullen would dislike that they’d taken the mages in as allies, but he could just go and sulk in a corner. Or glower imperiously while lecturing people on the fact that mages weren’t like  _humans_.

Last time Hawke checked, he had ten fingers and toes and a heart. He also used the privy.

“Yet you find it difficult to sleep,” Solas noted.

“Wouldn’t you?” Hawke leaned back on his hands, tipping his head to look at the sky. “Or are you telling me Dreamers don’t have nightmares? If that’s the case, I’ll have to figure out a way to develop the talent.”

“We have dreams, and we have nightmares, but we can change them if we desire.”

Hawke didn’t respond immediately, eyes on the stars and listening to the faint crackling of the fire. “You can change a lot of things in the Fade,” he said eventually, his magic simmering under his skin in a stark reminder of what he could do. “But some…” He closed his eyes, swallowing thickly as Justice’s scream echoed in his ears. “You can’t change everything.”

The silence that fell now was stifling, and Hawke dropped his gaze to look at Solas almost without thinking. The Fade had just darkened, pulling in tightly around Solas in an unusual way that Hawke hadn’t seen before.

But Solas’s face was blank, no emotion on it that Hawke could tell.

_“Watch the elf.”_

Hawke inhaled slowly, making sure his face didn’t give anything away. He did raise his eyebrows when Solas met his eyes, tipping his chin down in a silent question.

“You’re right,” Solas said finally, the words quiet.

He didn’t say anything else, but Hawke didn’t mind. Even with the silent question as to what Justice had meant hanging in the air, it was nice to have company that didn’t care about filling the silence.

Even if it would be nice to sleep.

* * *

The rest of their trip to Haven passed without consequence. They did run into a few bears and some rabid Mabari that reminded Hawke of his own with a pang, but they were quickly taken care of.

Dorian was an interesting character, but one who Hawke actually liked. He hadn’t said a word about Hawke’s real identity, and he got along well with Varric. Anyone who got along with Varric was a good person in Hawke’s book.

They hadn’t yet talked about what happened in that future, and Dorian did occasionally shoot Hawke  _looks_  when he thought Hawke wasn’t looking, but no one else seemed to notice. If they did, they brushed it off as belonging to what they had gone through on that impromptu time travel trip.

One that Hawke would gladly never do again.

He didn’t know what Dorian did with the amulet, but he’d assured Hawke that it wouldn’t be of any use anymore. That Hawke couldn’t sense it anywhere on Dorian’s person meant he’d destroyed it somehow.

Hawke wasn’t sure what Cassandra did with Alexius, only that he didn’t care to know. If he did, he wasn’t sure what he would do next time.

It wasn’t that Hawke necessarily  _liked_  killing but…sometimes it was the only solution.

There were scouts waiting for them at Haven’s outer gates, taking their horses and their extra supplies. They didn’t blink at the three extra people they had, which Hawke credited to Leliana’s general unflappability.

“I will let the others know we have arrived,” Cassandra told him brusquely. “We need to let them know what you saw and prepare for our next move.” She paused, then said slowly, “There may be templars here if Cullen succeeded.”

“Oh, lovely,” Anders said dryly. “Just what I needed.”

Hawke didn’t say anything beyond thinning his lips, but he gave Cassandra a nod. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Cullen to have not succeeded, since they could use more people, but the  _templars_ …

No, he knew where he fell on that line.

But his luck was never that good, was it?

With a slow exhale, Hawke followed after Cassandra as the gates opened, covering his nose as a sharp gust of wind swept past them.

There was a low curse from Dorian, followed with muttering in Tevene. He didn’t look at all happy, his nose a dark pink and teeth visibly chattering.

“There’re fires in Haven,” Hawke told him. “Do you think you can keep your extremities intact for a little longer?”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Dorian said, sniffing. “But yes. Otherwise you’ll be dealing with an unhappy mage.”

“Don’t worry,” Anders said. “I’m relatively sure I can deal with a little bit of frostbite.”

“ _Relatively_ sure? That doesn’t really make me feel better, you know.”

Hawke didn’t bother hiding his smile, catching Varric’s eye and pleased at the amusement he saw there.

He wasn’t sure what the others would think of Dorian – no, that was a lie. He was positive they’d side-eye him for being a Vint and a mage at that. Especially the Chantry folk here, since there was a rift between the two branches.

In fact, Hawke could already see some people giving Dorian second looks once they heard his accent, eyes narrowing in suspicion and mistrust. From the way Dorian’s voice suddenly quieted, he’d seen them as well.

Lips thinning, Hawke turned his focus to the large doors that marked Haven’s inner boundary. Cullen wasn’t out here, but his soldiers were still sparring. Surprisingly, most of them were in better shape than Hawke remembered, actually managing to seem decent instead of like rookies.

There were a few people wearing templar armor standing around, but they looked far more subdued than Hawke had expected. They shot their party glances but otherwise didn’t pay any attention, more occupied with talking amongst themselves.

The mages hadn’t yet made their way here, having agreed that it would be best for preparations to be made beforehand. They would have to be warned about the templar presence as Hawke had forgotten about agreeing to let Cullen attempt to recruit them.

If they didn’t –  _horns_.

Hawke stuttered to a stop, heart skipping several beats in his chest when he saw the gray-skinned  _Qunari_  standing by a tent set up by the doors.

“Hey,” Varric started, “what gives?”

Hawke didn’t answer, too busy wondering what the fuck a  _Qunari_  was doing here and why no one was  _panicking_  about it.

Said Qunari noticed Hawke staring at him, because of course he did.

“Oh,” Varric said quietly. “That’s…well.”

To Hawke’s consternation, the Qunari started moving in their direction, calling out, “You must be the Herald, yeah?”

Hawke took a step back before he could think, snow crunching under his shoes, the image of a different and far more fierce Qunari superimposing itself over that of the one here. He bumped against Cassandra, stopping short when he realized what he was doing.

The Qunari had stopped moving. He only had one eye; the other was covered by a patch, although it did nothing to hide the scars stretching out from behind it. “The Iron Bull, head of the mercenary group the Bull’s Chargers. Your ambassador hired us a few days ago.” His voice was a lot calmer than Hawke had expected coming from a burly Qunari –  _too_  calm.

Josephine had hired a  _Qunari_?

Hawke could only see the one, but there were always more Qunari to follow the first.

“Right,” Varric said, coughing slightly. “We just got back from the Hinterlands – kind of a long trip, y’know? We haven’t heard anything about recent hires.”

“Right, she said something about that.” The Iron Bull tilted his head, eye sweeping over the group behind Hawke.

Hawke probably should say something, but he couldn’t, slowly making his way past the Iron Bull while trying not to make it apparent that he was desperately trying to avoid getting too close. His chest throbbed faintly, a phantom sensation that had his breath hitching.

“We’ll get to know each other later, yeah?” the Iron Bull asked, fixing Hawke with a look that was all the more intent for it being with one eye.

“Sure,” Hawke managed, glad when his voice came out evenly. He took a breath, forcing a smile that he hoped wasn’t as strained as it felt. “Don’t freeze. It would rather chill relations between us.”

There was a moment where no one said anything, although there was a stifled sound from Varric that sounded like he tried not to groan.

The Iron Bull didn’t look at all insulted, his face transforming into a grin that didn’t seem displeased. “Touched by your concern, Boss.” The unexpected title had Hawke frowning in disconcertment. “But it’ll be fine.”

Rather than pursue the topic and ask just why the Iron Bull was suddenly calling him “ _Boss_ ,” Hawke took the opportunity to flee without making it seem like he was doing so. Anders was thankfully right on his heels, and Hawke could hear Cassandra speaking with the Iron Bull.

Once out of sight of the Iron Bull and inside Haven proper, Hawke stopped, shoulders slumping and a hand coming up to clutch at his chest.

“Is it hurting?” Anders asked in a hushed tone.

“No, it—” Hawke shook his head, forcing his hand down. The phantom sensation of a sharp blade piercing through his chest was fading, and he found he could breathe. “I’m fine.” And he was.

“If you’re lying—”

“I’m not.” Hawke almost reached out to touch but caught the eye of a nearby scout who was watching the two of them with too much curiosity. Shoving back the urge, he put on a smile instead. “I need to head to the Chantry. You can stay in my cabin and avoid running into Cullen.”

“Just a cabin?” Anders sounded sardonic. “Here I was hoping for a mansion.”

“It’s a decently sized cabin?” Hawke headed in the direction of the small one-room cabin he had been staying in before leaving.

It was surprisingly warm when he opened the door, a rush of heated air hitting him in the face. He wished he could just close the door and stay with Anders, but checking in with the others had to be done first.

And yet he didn’t leave, still fidgeting at the door even after Anders put his gear away.

Anders looked up at him, a slight frown crossing his face. “Love?”

Hawke pressed his hand against the door behind him, torn between the urge to throw himself at Anders or throw himself out the door so he wouldn’t be tempted.

_Not now,_  he reminded himself.

“Be safe?” was all he managed to say, unable to help the way his voice wobbled slightly.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Anders said after a moment, voice deliberately light. “Just about the only thing I’m in danger of here is drowning in this bed of yours.”

The joke helped relieve some of the pressure in Hawke’s chest, and his next smile came more easily. “That would be a shame if it happened.”

Anders’s answering smile was sly. “Hurry back and it won’t.”

Before Hawke could give it a second thought, he opened the door and stepped backwards, holding Anders’s gaze until the door fell shut between them. Only then did he exhale, feeling the heat in his cheeks.

It took him a moment to remember just why he hadn’t stayed in there with Anders to begin with.

When he turned, Hawke found Varric standing at the base of the stairs and watching him with an amused expression.

“All squared away?” Varric asked as Hawke came closer.

“What would you say if I said it was circled away?”

“Wonder where your grasp of metaphors went and then go and find whatever you’re on.” Varric fell into step besides Hawke as they headed to the Chantry. “Seeker went on into the Chantry, as did your new bosom friend from Tevinter.”

“You know you’re the only dwarf for me.”

“But am I from Tevinter?” Varric fired back. A second later he sobered, shaking his head. “You got this handled?” The question was quiet.

Hawke didn’t look at him, eyes on the Chantry building just before them. “When don’t I?”

Varric sounded distinctly unimpressed as he answered, “Should I answer alphabetically or chronologically?”

“Ouch.” Hawke glanced down at Varric, lips twitching in a smile despite himself. “It’s fine.” He rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the stubble he could feel. With all that had happened, he hadn’t been able to find the time to shave. “I’ve got it.”

“I guess you do,” Varric said, sighing. He shuffled his feet, snow crunching loudly as he did. “I’d wish you luck, but I’m not sure you need it.”

“Luck’s always good.” Hawke pressed a hand to the Chantry door, setting his jaw.

“Then good luck.”

Hawke didn’t wait any longer, opening the door with a shove. Something tingled at the edges of his awareness now that he was in the Chantry. It felt a bit like a spirit, but Anders was at the other end of Haven.

Then again…this didn’t feel like Justice.

Closing the door to keep out the cold, Hawke shot his dark surroundings a look. There was no sign of anything that looked like a spirit. The wisps hanging around Dorian’s legs absolutely didn’t count.

Cassandra was the first to acknowledge him. “Trevelyan. I was just briefing Cullen on what happened in Redcliffe.”

Not missing a beat as he approached them, Hawke swallowed back the faint sense of horror that rippled through him at the reminder. “Did you mention the time travel bit?”

The wide-eyed expressions on their faces said that Cassandra had not yet gotten to that.

“That was next on the list,” Dorian said a few seconds into the stunned pause. “Right after explaining why I’m here, I presume.”

“Time travel?” Leliana sounded disbelieving.

“Quite,” Dorian agreed.

“Not as impossible as it sounds.” Hawke came to a stop between Dorian and Cassandra. “Dorian and I had the rather unfortunate luck to travel a year in our future, which won’t happen if I have any say in it.”

“It was a report I didn’t feel comfortable sending via raven,” Cassandra said in response to Leliana’s rather accusing glare. “And one I didn’t think you would believe if you didn’t hear it from Trevelyan.”

“You’re right.” Cullen’s tone was clipped. “It does sound rather far-fetched.” He fixed Hawke with a narrow-eyed look that spoke of displeasure beyond hearing of  _time travel_.

“If you’re trying to set me on fire with a look, I’m afraid it’s not working,” Hawke said dryly. He paused, reorganizing his thoughts. “The most important things to know about that future are the demon army Corypheus is organizing and the assassination of Empress Celene. I’m not sure in which order that came in because your future self was remarkably obtuse and disinclined to share valuable information, Leliana.”

“ _Was_  she?” Dorian shot Hawke a glance. “Why didn’t you say anything? She kept snapping at me!”

“That was why I didn’t. She would have shot me with an arrow if I said anything wrong.”

“I wouldn’t have!” Leliana protested.

Hawke considered her. “Maybe not  _now_ …but the you a year from now was rather more inclined towards violence.”

“Says the pot to the kettle,” Dorian muttered.

“I haven’t stabbed anyone who wasn’t deserving of it,” Hawke said. Remembering Alexius, he added, “And even then I refrained because you asked.”

“ _Regardless_ ,” Cassandra interrupted, “we have an idea of what to plan for next.”

“A demon army?” Cullen rubbed his face.

“I’m rather more concerned with the assassination of Empress Celene,” Josephine said, frowning down at her feet. “Currently Orlais is all that’s standing between Tevinter and us. If they fall, then there’s no one to oppose them.”

“The current civil war isn’t helping matters,” Leliana said. She folded her arms, bringing one hand up to her chin. “I’ll have my people see what they can find out.”

“But for now the Breach is still the larger concern,” Cassandra said. “The mages have been recruited to our side.”

“As  _allies_.” Cullen turned his eyes to Hawke. “You just went and met with them and offered them an alliance without any discussion! You were there – why didn’t you stop him?” he snapped at Cassandra.

Cassandra’s mouth twisted. “There was no time. Besides, even if there had been…I would not have said anything. A decision needed to be made, and Trevelyan made it.” Her eyes flicked to Hawke. “Even if I do not entirely agree with it.”

Hawke met and held her gaze, mouth set in a thin line. He almost asked her just why she didn’t agree but held his tongue after a moment’s thought.

It didn’t really matter, did it? She didn’t agree with it, but she hadn’t argued after he made the offer, going along with it and helping the mages prepare to leave Redcliffe for Haven.

“We can’t just turn the mages loose with no oversight. The Veil is torn open,” Cullen said sharply. “There are going to be abominations among them, and we must be prepared for that.”

“You’re not siccing the templars on them,” Hawke snapped, pulling Cullen’s attention back. “This will not turn into another Circle.”

Josephine looked worried. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.”

“You asked for either the mages or the templars,” Hawke said shortly. “What did you expect when I returned?”

“You not making a decision without discussing it with us!”

“Where was the time?” Hawke crossed his arms over his chest, holding Cullen’s gaze. “Or would you rather have Tevinter sitting on our doorstep?”

“Enough!” Cassandra barked out, stepping forward in-between them. “Arguing this will get us nowhere. The decision was made and the mages will be coming here shortly. Cullen, you recruited the templars, did you not?”

Huffing, Cullen retreated slightly, eyes dropping. “What’s left of them.”

Hawke tilted his head, raising his eyebrows inquisitively.

Cullen heaved another sigh upon seeing the look. “They were holed up in Therinfal Redoubt when I found their base. It seemed fine at first…but then I found out they were taking red lyrium.”

“Don’t tell me they were  _drinking_  it.” Dorian sounded appalled.

“Not all of them, but enough.” Cullen shook his head, sounding weary. “Including Knight-Captain Denam. He’s dead now, as are half of the templars that were there. The remaining are here in Haven but doubtful of where the Order’s future lies.”

Something moved in the shadows of the Chantry. Hawke turned his head to see a pale boy in ragged clothes with a large hat shielding his face from view lurking just in sight. Or at least what  _looked_  like a boy; the being felt too much like the Fade to be human, but Hawke couldn’t keep his eyes on them long enough to see what they  _really_  looked like.

It was like seeing a mirage – there but not quite.

And yet his senses weren’t lying.

Hawke stepped to the side to bring the spirit in clearer view, but it didn’t make keeping his eyes on them any easier. “What are you doing here?”

The spirit froze, head tilting up to reveal a boyish face with wide eyes that were as pale as their skin. Their mouth dropped open.

Cassandra reacted first, sounding perplexed. “Who are you talking to?”

“The spirit.” Hawke pointed at the spirit, confused when the others glanced in the right direction but didn’t seem to see anything.

“It’s just the candlelight playing tricks,” Leliana said, shooting a glance at Hawke.

“You can see me?” The spirit’s voice was deeper than Hawke had expected, the tone just as surprised as their face.

“I can see you.” Hawke ignored the befuddled and concerned looks the others shared. “Why can’t they?”

“I don’t want them to.” The spirit edged forwards, seeming to become more solid as they came into the light. “But now they can.”

There was no discernible difference that Hawke could tell other than it becoming slightly easier to keep his eyes on the spirit and see that it  _was_  really a spirit and not simply a strange human boy, but the startled exclamations from the others spoke a different story.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen flinched backwards. “Where did you come from?”

“I was here,” the spirit said, tilting their head like a bird. “My name is Cole,” they added, looking at Hawke. “Just the one, not like you.”

Hawke’s breath stuttered in his chest, and it was a force of will that kept his face blank of anything incriminating. “We have two names,” he said eventually. “Not like spirits.”

“A spirit?” Cullen snorted. “No, Trevelyan. That is a  _demon_.”

“I’m not a demon.” Cole sounded offended to be called that, which made sense in Hawke’s experience with Justice. “I’m here to help. Demons don’t help; they hurt. Like the envy demon at Therinfal Redoubt. You remember, don’t you? It wanted to  _be_  you.”

“How do you know that?” Cullen’s voice was tight with something like fear.

“I was there,” Cole said, taking another step closer. “Watching and waiting, wanting to help. But they were too angry – the song too loud. They couldn’t hear me.”

“I would have remembered if you were there.”

“I can make you forget.” Cole said it matter-of-factly, like it didn’t make Cullen blanch and put his hand on his sword. “You didn’t want to remember, so I helped by making you forget.” Their tone changed slightly. “This doesn’t feel real. This  _can’t_  be real. The Circle’s clear – the Circle’s clear, why am I here again? Air hurts, I can’t hear my heart –  _don’t let the mages go_.”

“ _Stop it_!” Cullen sounded panicked, eyes wide.

Cole did, head ducking. “I made you forget,” they repeated. “But the demon’s dead now. It can’t be you; it can’t be him like it wanted to be.” Cole pointed to Hawke. “Bright and warm, like the sun.”

“It…wanted to be me?” Hawke asked blankly.

“Terrible choice, really,” Dorian agreed in a light tone. “It could do so much better than your terrible sense of style.”

There was a faint sense of confusion from Cole at Dorian’s words. “It’s all right,” they said eventually, coming closer yet again, pale eyes meeting Hawke’s. “It can’t come in; it can’t hurt you.” Their tone changed. “I would have said no.”

Hawke barely restrained the flinch at the words Cole plucked from his head. Was the spirit reading his mind? Did Cole know who he was?

“Only if it’s loud,” Cole said. “The mark’s too bright, it hides you. It’s like looking into the sun, only it doesn’t hurt your eyes.”

“Are you saying you were at Therinfal Redoubt?” Leliana asked after a stilted pause.

“I helped,” was all Cole said. “But I couldn’t help everyone.”

“And you followed us back,” Cullen said, voice thick. “How long have you been watching us, demon?”

“I’m not a demon,” Cole said again. “I was waiting for him – the Herald. He can close the hole in the sky – heal the hurt and make it go away.” They met Hawke’s eyes. “I want to help.” The words were as clear as a bell.

Hawke didn’t immediately deny the request, which was probably what had Cassandra whirling on him, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “Trevelyan, you cannot seriously be considering—”

“I didn’t say anything,” Hawke bit out, shaking his head once. He refocused on Cole. “Cole…what are you?”

“You said I’m a spirit, so I must be.” Cole paused, tilting their head. “Tastes like magic and light and air but not air, bright like Justice but not—”

“You don’t seem like a spirit of justice,” Hawke interrupted, deliberately not looking at the others. “But you want to help?”

Cole didn’t answer aside from a nod, holding Hawke’s gaze.

Maybe he should be more careful about trusting Cole, but the spirit didn’t feel malevolent. Cole didn’t feel like Justice but was almost  _soft_  in a way that the other spirit wasn’t. Yet Hawke could tell there was a steely core that every spirit had.

He couldn’t tell what kind of spirit Cole was, but they weren’t a bad spirit. Whatever Cullen said, Cole was no demon.

After a long breath, Hawke inclined his head. “Watch the mages and templars. We don’t need more fighting here.”

“Herald!” Cullen protested indignantly.

“Cole isn’t a demon,” Hawke said sharply.

Cullen scowled, mouth turning down. “You can tell that, can you?”

“Yes.” Hawke let the mark flare to life for a brief instant, waving the affected hand across his chest. “I can.”

A light touch to his elbow had Hawke looking back, meeting Cole’s intent gaze. “Thank you,” they said quietly.

There wasn’t another word, but the sharp exhalations from the others and the way Hawke’s eyes found it slightly difficult to focus on Cole made it clear something had happened.

“He just vanished!” Josephine sounded startled.

Hawke didn’t say anything, forcing his eyes on Cole and letting the corner of his lips tilt upwards at the spirit’s startled response when they saw Hawke  _looking_  at them.

After a moment, Cole withdrew and sank back into the shadows. Hawke could still sense them, but that faded in a few seconds, Cole evidently having left the premises.

“Well,” Dorian said after a moment, “that wasn’t strange at all.”

Hawke couldn’t help but snort. “We jumped forwards a year in the future and you think  _that_  was strange?”

Dorian pursed his lips, clearly thinking. “You’re right. This doesn’t even top the list. Your whimsical approach to these things does.”

“I should say  _careless_ ,” Cullen said disapprovingly. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a demon or a spirit. You just let it loose!”

“Were you thinking of locking Cole up in the dungeons?” Hawke raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “How long do you think that would have lasted?”

“You can’t just accept anything’s help whenever they offer it—”

“Why not? It’s worked well enough so far.” Hawke shrugged dismissively. “If I recall, you lot were willing to throw yourselves at the Chantry even after everything that’s happened. Accepting the help of a spirit that apparently saved your neck from an envy demon is a step up, wouldn’t you say? At least the spirit isn’t trying to curtail our movements or execute us for heresy.”

“I will keep an eye on the spirit’s movements,” Leliana said, cutting off Cullen’s next words. “Even if”—she glanced at Hawke—“this Cole claims it wants to help, we can’t afford to let an unknown party wander around Haven.”

“Not with the Breach still open.” Cassandra had her arms folded across her chest. She wasn’t looking at Hawke. “That remains our priority for now. The demon army and Empress Celene’s assassination will be dealt with afterwards.”

“How pragmatic of you.” Dorian’s lips tilted up in amusement.

“Is it?” Cassandra didn’t sound entirely certain. “Or is it simply necessity?”

“Are you staying?” Hawke asked, glancing askance at Dorian.

“I quite like the south,” Dorian said dryly. “It’s so charming and rustic. Besides, I’d like to help. The Breach affects us all, and it would seem that someone from my homeland was responsible for creating it in the first place. It seems only right that someone else from Tevinter helps close it.”

Hawke reached out to clap a hand to Dorian’s arm, squeezing it briefly. “Welcome aboard. Let’s keep anymore time traveling to a minimum.”

Dorian let out a startled laugh. “Quite, yes. Not that it will be happening anytime soon. I destroyed the amulet.”

“Great.” Cullen didn’t sound as pleased as he should have. “At least there’s  _that_.” He shared a look with Josephine and Leliana. “Let’s move this to the war room. We need to make plans for approaching the Breach once the mages arrive.” He turned to Hawke, a stiff smile stretching his mouth. “Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

“Nice to know I could just chop off my hand and everything would still be fine.” Hawke pretended not to see the appalled grimace that crossed Cullen’s face. “I’ll be a few minutes.”

There was still a letter he needed to write.

* * *

_It wasn’t just the two of them that ended up going to the Wounded Coast. Anders accompanied them, as did Merrill. Varric tagged along as well, a speculative gleam in his eyes that he was afraid to ask about. Surprisingly, Fenris showed up, too, a mulish expression on his face that dared anyone to challenge his presence._

_He didn’t risk asking, although it would probably come up during one of their chats later. Fenris had opinions about mages, but that didn’t stop him from helping whenever they ran into trouble with the templars._

_“They shouldn’t have you,” had been all Fenris said when he’d been asked about it._

_The group was larger than expected, but Carver still led them to a discreet alcove that was empty of everything but sand and some broken crates. He picked through them out of habit, finding nothing of note aside from some shiny bottles that would probably fetch a few coins._

_“You realize you have money now, right?” Varric asked him. “Why do you keep picking up pantaloons and torn trousers?”_

_He didn’t really have an answer for that, only that it helped him feel a little more secure knowing that he wasn’t completely reliant on what they had found in the Deep Roads._

_“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” Carver said._

_Varric protested that he **did**  want to know the answer to this, but no one paid him any attention._

_They were going to start off easy, Carver had said. It wouldn’t do any good if they were sparring and Carver hit him with a smite, since they had no idea what would happen._

_Anders didn’t look at all pleased. “Well, at least you becoming a templar was good for **something** ,” he said snippily._

_Carver ignored him. “Just…stand there.”_

_He felt slightly ridiculous, but he did stay still. He wasn’t at all sure what to expect, and the anxiety had his stomach swimming with nerves._

_Carver breathed in, an expression of intense concentration on his face, and then—_

_It felt like lightning hit him, but it wasn’t the sensation of something striking him that had his legs giving out. It was the horrifying feeling of **everything disappearing**._

_He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel the world around him, there was nothing there—_

_His head swam, ears ringing and his skin far too numb. There was ground beneath him, wasn’t there? He could feel the sand – the sand was **there**  – but it didn’t seem entirely real, his body a strange  **thing**  that he was trapped in._

_There was air, too – someone was telling him to **breathe**  – but it didn’t taste right. Nothing tasted like anything, and all the colors seemed to have disappeared._

_“Hawke, **Hawke** ,” someone was saying, shaking his shoulder._

_His neck felt clumsy and not at all like his own when he turned it in the direction of that voice, which echoed strangely. It was Anders, but it didn’t **feel**  like Anders. He couldn’t see that light around him or feel that familiar warmth, and for a terrifying few seconds he wondered if anything was real._

_Was **he**  real? Was this?_

_Warmth flared as Anders touched a hand to his face, and for a second he could feel magic sinking in his skin. The world seemed to tip back to normality before it faded back out and he was stranded._

_It happened like that again and again, each time worse than the last because he wasn’t sure what was going on, only that everything didn’t feel **right**._

_“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he heard Carver say at one point._

_“And you know how it’s supposed to be, do you?” Anders snapped. His grip was too tight, but he didn’t let go. “But you’re right.” He sounded grudging. “I’ve had it happen before; it’s not like this.”_

_There was more, but he found it difficult to pay attention, the words not sounding right and his brain having difficulty translating sound into meaningful language._

_But it faded. Gradually._

_The first thing he noticed was that he could feel Anders’s familiar warmth and light. The second was that the air didn’t taste so strange anymore. The third was that colors seemed more vibrant than before._

_And then everything rushed back, the Fade a loud scream in his ears as it wrapped back around him._

_There was a brief exhilarating moment of thanking the Maker that it was all right now, and then he was emptying his stomach._

_“Hawke?” Anders sounded frightened but normal._

_He shook his head, covering his mouth with a hand as he breathed. The first spell that he cast warmed his blood, the magic singing as it rushed forth._

_“Okay,” he managed, letting Anders check on him. “I’m – I’m fine.”_

_“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Carver said several feet away, sounding and looking rather guilty. “At worst you should have been stunned for a few seconds, not…that.”_

_He didn’t know if he had an explanation for it, only that he hadn’t been able to **feel**. His limbs were still shaky, but his body felt like his own now, not a stranger’s that he was inhabiting._

_“Do it again,” he said after he pulled himself together and was on his feet. Now that he was somewhat more composed, he could see the charred ground around him – remnants of where magical backlash had occurred._

_Anders started to protest, “Hawke—”_

_“I need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.” He held Carver’s gaze, his jaw set. “So do it again until I can fight through it.”_

_He was going to regret this, but not as much as he would regret not being prepared for the worst._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is a dork and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. He is also terrible at interacting with anyone he romantically likes. Although Anders is the only person to have been blessed with the full Hawke experience. Carver is 500% more savvy than his big brother and he would be much prouder of this if it weren't so difficult to keep a stable relationship given all the trouble Hawke gets into.
> 
> So, we've got the Iron Bull and Cole joining the group this chapter! And Hawke's suspicious of Solas, which _may_ bite a certain elf in the butt later. What about Vivienne and Sera? Yeah, they'll be joining the crew eventually, but not anytime soon. *looks at word count* Those interactions are going to be _interesting_.
> 
> You'll notice that Hawke used they/them pronouns when referring to Cole. Usually he'd use "it" but Cole looks too human for him to feel comfortable with such an impersonal address and Hawke doesn't know his gender. So for now it's they/them. (Why are they even gendering spirits to begin with?)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love feedback! :D


	9. Haven IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm gonna just drop this chapter here and leave it at that. :P
> 
> First flashback is set right after they get together. Second one is still when they're in the early phases of their relationship, so Act 2.

_“You set the curtains on fire.”_

_“You cracked the bed frame.”_

_“Did I miss the smell of singed hair?”_

_“You almost blew out the windows.”_

_“…I didn’t mean to?”_

_Anders smirked, hiding his face in his shoulder. “Good to know I’ve still got it,” he mumbled against his skin._

_“Was that in doubt?” he asked curiously._

_“Hm.” Anders shifted, arm tightening where it was slung over his waist. “Go a certain amount of time without practicing, anything gets rusty.”_

_“Ah.” What was he then? Rusty? Or falling apart like something shoddily and newly built?_

_“I haven’t set anything on fire in ages,” Anders said, huffing out a laugh. “Not like that. At least one of us is a quick hand at dousing them.”_

_He didn’t say he hadn’t meant to douse it, just pressing a smile to Anders’s hair. It felt good lying so close to him without anything to get in the way of skin-to-skin contact. “It’s been a while for me, too.” He didn’t usually have magical mishaps, the last time being when he had been a child and his father still alive._

_But… “Was it good?”_

_Anders pulled his head away to look up at him. His smile was infectious. “Love, I set the curtains on fire. If it hadn’t been good, that wouldn’t have happened.”_

_Hearing Anders refer to him as such would never fail to send a thrill running through him. He couldn’t help but press a kiss to Anders’s forehead, heart overwhelmed with a nameless feeling that he could never put a word to because “love” seemed too small to encompass it._

_Some minutes later, Anders spoke again, voice quiet. “I never thought I could have this again.”_

_“Because of Justice?”_

_“It’s not just the sex,” Anders said. “I mean, that was part of it, but it was the other thing. I didn’t think I could have a **relationship**. There was no room for it in what we have to do, but…”_

_“That is what we have here, right?” he asked, throat thick._

_“Against my better judgment…” Anders’s sigh was warm against his skin. “I want this. I shouldn’t, but I do.”_

_There was a sick feeling in his chest, one that he wasn’t familiar with and didn’t want to become familiar with. “That’s…um…” He swallowed, uncertain of how to put it into words. “Ow?” was what he eventually went with, managing a strained smile. “Nice pillow talk there.”_

_“What?” Anders seemed to realize something was wrong. He propped himself up on his elbow. “Oh, that came across badly, didn’t it?”_

_He looked up at Anders, wanting to touch but unsure. “I don’t want this to be something you force yourself into.”_

_“I’m not forcing myself into anything,” Anders said, reaching up with his other hand to brush his bangs back, fingers warm on his skin. He lingered, thumb brushing against his temple. “I want this. I didn’t think I could have it again considering who I am now, but you’re something else.”_

_“Is that a good something else or a bad one?”_

_“The best,” Anders said, mouth curling into a grin. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”_

_“That’s my line.”_

_“Mm, no.” Anders pressed a kiss to his mouth, not pulling away. “It’s mine,” he murmured against his lips. “It’s definitely mine.”_

_He was about to suggest that it be both of their lines, but his attention was soon turned to other matters._

_Like not almost blowing out the windows this time._

* * *

“Herald!”

Hawke didn’t stop for Josephine, refusing to acknowledge her.

Josephine’s footsteps picked up. “Lord Trevelyan!”

Now he stopped, sliding a foot to the side to turn towards her. “I thought we covered everything we needed to. Unless you wanted me to help send out the invitations?”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with the Breach,” Josephine answered seriously, not missing a beat. “I’ve received another letter from your family.”

It took Hawke a moment too long to remember what family Josephine was referring to. “Have you?”

Josephine held the letter out in answer. “If you would like, I can compose a reply for you—”

Hawke didn’t answer, letting Josephine continue to speak as he opened the letter to read it. It was more of the same as the last one he still had stashed in his lodgings, although this time there was more of a pressure to respond. He recognized that pressure from his time in Kirkwall.

“Leave it,” Hawke said, looking up from the letter. “If they contact you again, ignore it.”

Josephine’s mouth opened slightly in shock. “Is – are you certain? They’re your family—”

“We weren’t on speaking terms.” Hawke folded the letter back up, resisting the urge to crumple it into a ball. “They’re only reaching out now because of what they can gain.” He managed a stiff smile. “Do you want the whole sorry story or is that enough?”

To her credit, Josephine didn’t show anything of what she was thinking on her face. “It would be polite if there was some response.”

“I’ll leave that in your capable hands.” Hawke held the letter out, not moving until Josephine took it back. “If they reply again, I don’t need to see it. Feel free to use it as kindling.”

“Very well.” Josephine sounded just slightly disapproving, but there was no sign of it on her face.

Inclining his head in thanks, Hawke turned to leave, stepping out into the cold of Haven. It was dark now, the stars glinting through the patchy clouds that dotted the sky. Without the sun, the temperature had plummeted, and it was all too easy to see his breath.

Briefly closing his eyes to cast a small warming spell, Hawke headed in the direction of where Anders would be. He bypassed Varric on the way, who was sitting by the fire in front of his tent.

“All good?” Varric asked, face cast in uneven shadows from the dancing firelight.

“Perfect,” Hawke answered dryly, shooting him a thumbs up.

“I’ll be sure to unpack.”

Hawke let Varric see a flash of his grin before he turned away, continuing down the steps and to the right. There was a warm light in the windows of his cabin, and the door was warm to the touch when he reached it.

Magic tingled across his skin, and Hawke took a breath, trying and failing to calm his stuttering heart down.

Seeing Anders sitting at the desk and engrossed in a book that Hawke knew he hadn’t had before alleviated some of the pressure in his chest. He didn’t stir as Hawke closed the door and walked over to him, footsteps quiet.

Hawke didn’t make an effort at hiding his presence, sliding his hands over Anders’s shoulders and leaning down to press his mouth to the top of Anders’s head. He inhaled, eyes closing and more tension seeping out of him as Anders’s familiar scent filled his lungs.

Anders hummed lightly, shoulders pressing back into Hawke’s hands. “From the lack of fire and brimstone, I’m guessing things went well?”

Hawke made a disgruntled noise, unwilling to move to speak audibly.

A hand touched his own, Anders’s fingers tangling with his. “That didn’t sound good.”

With a sigh, Hawke pulled away enough to say quietly, “Cullen wasn’t happy with my choice to offer the mages an alliance. They were even less happy when I let a spirit join.”

Anders’s fingers tightened. “A spirit?”

“They look like a young boy; you can’t miss the hat.” Hawke rubbed his thumb over Anders’s shoulder, closing his eyes and letting his forehead rest against the top of Anders’s head. “They said they want to help.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “They called themselves Cole.”

“And you thought ‘why not?’ and welcomed them in.” Anders didn’t sound upset, more amused. “You’re a bleeding heart, love.”

Hawke didn’t answer, making a grumbling noise of disagreement.

“You are.” Anders’s voice was fond.

“Mmf.” Hawke pressed his lips to Anders’s head again, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away entirely with a sigh.

Reaching down to tug his boots off, Hawke let them fall to the floor by the foot of the bed, laying down his daggers with more care on the desk by the window. There was a lute propped up against it, and Hawke eyed it warily, all too aware of Anders’s talents with it.

Maybe he could sneak it out before Anders noticed?

Hawke had just managed to push it under the desk and nudge the chair in front of it when he heard Anders stand. He turned, making sure to plaster an innocent expression on his face.

“You know it’s not that late, right?” Anders was playing with the fastenings of his cloak.

“You’re right. We should head out, see the sights.” Hawke stepped around the bed and closer to Anders, gently nudging his hands aside to take over. “It’s not like it’s freezing and no one knows who we really are.”

“There is that,” Anders conceded.

Hawke let the cloak fall, moving to Anders’s outer layer and gently beginning to tug it off.”There is,” he echoed, smiling at him.

Anders shivered lightly, hands falling to Hawke’s waist. “The cold’s coming in,” he murmured.

Hawke breathed out warmth, letting his hands stroke it into Anders’s skin. “I won’t let you freeze.” He gave a lopsided smile, pressing in close to kiss Anders.

Anders shuddered again, but his hands were in Hawke’s hair and there was nothing but heat radiating off him.

This was everything he’d needed, and there wasn’t the slightest chance in hell that Hawke was going to lose it.

* * *

“You were dead in the future.”

“That’s a little more dreary than your usual pillow talk.”

“Sorry.”

“Not even a joke?” Anders propped himself up on an elbow, peering down at Hawke in concern. “Are you all right?”

“I…” Hawke exhaled slowly, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes. “You’re alive,” he said eventually, “but I can’t…I keep thinking about what happened. You were – you were  _dead_ ”—his voice cracked—”and it was just…Justice.”

Anders’s voice was neutral as he said, “As in it being justice I was dead or  _Justice_?”

Hawke dropped his hand, resting his left palm on Anders’s heart and watching the interplay of green light with white as lines of light flickered over Anders’s skin. “Justice,” he murmured, turning on his side to curl into Anders’s frame. “He was there. And then he wasn’t.” He closed his eyes against the memory of that sensation of feeling a spirit  _die_.

“He wasn’t a demon then?”

“It was—” Hawke remembered how close Justice had been to the edge when he’d first ran into the spirit in that future. “He wasn’t,” he settled on saying. “It was strange speaking to him; the last time that happened we were in the Fade and he kept pushing us to get to Feynriel.”

“Don’t remind me,” Anders muttered, bringing a hand up to curl around Hawke’s. More cracks of light scattered across his fingers.

“Do you not like him?” Hawke asked, needing to  _know_. “I know I suggested something about this being a weird kind of threesome back in Kirkwall—”

“No, I think that was all Varric.”

Hawke ignored the interjection, continuing, “—but you stopped talking about it – him. He – he doesn’t think I’m a distraction anymore, does he?”

There was a sharp exhale from Anders, almost like he was surprised. When Hawke looked, he was blinking rapidly.

“He…” Anders closed his eyes, shaking his head lightly. “He doesn’t, no. I…I don’t know when that stopped.” The words were hesitant.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Hawke met Anders’s gaze levelly. “You know I love you, right?”

Anders tilted his head, brow furrowing slightly. “No sandwich this time?”

Hawke refused to wince at that reminder. They’d been in the  _kitchen_. What else was he supposed to have said in response to a declaration of love that wasn’t in the bedroom? There’d been food in front of him and he’d been hungry. “I love you,” he said instead, “ _all_  of you.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Hawke pressed his left hand to Anders’s chest, drawing attention to where he could feel Justice reaching to the mark. It was a separate sensation from the tingling scent and taste of the Fade that always lingered around Anders. “Because we haven’t talked about it, and I didn’t even realize it until I saw Justice a year from now.”

“Did he talk to you?”

“He said enough.” Hawke reached up to Anders’s face, lightly tracing the curve of his jaw, seeing cracks of spirit light follow. “I don’t want you – either of you – to think that I don’t like you. Or that I’m disgusted.”

Anders’s brow furrowed. “We don’t think that.”

“But you think I’m neutral to Justice,” Hawke said. “Or at least he thinks that.” He paused, letting his fingers rest against Anders’s cheek. “Is he listening right now?”

“He’s always listening,” Anders said quietly. There was a glint of light in his eyes, the hazel far brighter than it usually was.

Hawke breathed in the Fade and the scent of Justice’s spirit energy, fingers tingling where they touched Anders’s skin. “I love you, too. Not just one of you,  _both_  of you.” He took in shallow breaths, heart thumping painfully against his ribs.

He didn’t expect the crackle of spirit energy as Anders’s eyes blazed white, lines of light bursting through his skin in trails of lightning. The sudden influx had him breathless and wide-eyed, stunned even as something crushed him to the bed in a fierce hug.

There was enough time to register the tingling all through his body and the way it was almost impossible to breathe in anything but Fade-residue before it faded as quickly as it had started. Hawke was left staring up at the ceiling, Anders pinning him to the bed.

Anders trembled lightly, face buried in Hawke’s neck. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, lips moving against skin.

“It’s fine,” Hawke said dazedly, reaching up to wrap his arms around Anders. “He can do that again if he wants.”

Anders shook his head, not budging.

“Anders—”

“Maybe later.” Anders was still trembling, but this time there was light peeking through his skin, softer than before. Most of it pooled where Hawke’s left hand rested. “I…I’d like to just stay like this.”

Hawke closed his eyes, breathing out in a big rush. His arms tightened. “Yes.” He managed to turn his head to press his lips to Anders’s hair. “I’d like that, too.”

* * *

The sun was well up the next morning by the time Hawke managed to drag himself out of bed and into the chilly air of the room. He warmed the air with a burst of magic, acknowledging Anders’s mumbled “Thanks, love” with a hum.

He was picking his daggers up and considering what he needed to do today before he realized that there was something he’d forgotten to ask.

“What do you make of Solas?” Hawke asked, turning to look back at Anders.

“The elf?” Anders frowned up at the ceiling, one hand pushing against his forehead. “He’s…a bit strange. Why?”

“Something Justice told me in the future, but he didn’t have time to explain.” Hawke sat on the bed, pulling his boots on. “He said to watch him and that he wasn’t what he seemed.”

“I don’t—” Anders cut himself off, frown deepening. “I can’t say,” he started again, this time more slowly. “Only…he’s trying to get justice for something. It’s an old desire, but it’s still  _there_.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “And he’s bright, a bit like you.”

“He is.” Hawke paused, rubbing his chin and abruptly reminded he still needed to shave. “But seeking justice?”

“Or vengeance.” Anders sighed, shaking his head. He reached up to tie his hair back. “It’s difficult to say. The two are more intertwined than we’d like to admit.”

“You don’t know for what?”

“You’re lucky Justice can get even that much,” Anders said dryly. “He’s not what he used to be.”

The self-deprecating tone it was said in had Hawke’s heart hurting. “That’s not a bad thing.”

Anders gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re probably the only one who thinks that.”

“Hm.” Hawke looked down, frowning. “Solas knows about Justice,” he said after a moment.

There were a few seconds of stillness before Anders answered quietly, “Does he?”

“He won’t do anything.” Hawke reached out to touch Anders’s knee where it lay under the blanket. “He wanted to let me know in case I wasn’t already aware that my ‘contact’ was possessed by a spirit.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t say he would go to Cassandra.”

“He apparently has friends who are spirits.”

“Okay,” Anders said after a pause. “He’s definitely odd.”

“Then he fits in pretty well, doesn’t he?” Hawke slid over and leaned in to kiss Anders. “I’ll be keeping an eye on him, though.”

Anders tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t get caught.”

“I’m sneaky,” Hawke protested. “Besides, shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“I promise I’ll steer clear of Cullen. And Leliana.”

“Okay.” Hawke deliberately let his shoulders relax. He couldn’t ask Anders to stay inside the entire time he was here. That would just be asking for a fireball to the face. “I won’t be far.”

“I know.” Anders reached up to stroke Hawke’s cheek. “Go on and do whatever it is heralds do.”

“It’s just waving my hand and closing rifts at this point.”

“You haven’t closed the giant one that’s right over our heads yet.”

“I’ll get on that. Right after I shave.”

* * *

The air was brisk when he stepped outside, a cold gust of wind slapping him in the face and bringing tears to his eyes.

Hawke blinked rapidly, discreetly warming himself up and making sure that no snow around him melted. He glanced to the right, briefly considered going through the doors, then remembered that the Iron Bull was stationed there.

He turned left and headed in the direction of the tavern. He could check on Dorian and make sure that he hadn’t gone and insulted someone he shouldn’t have.

When Hawke found Dorian, he was reasonably sure that Dorian hadn’t insulted anyone since he was still in one piece. Solas was also there, sitting on the stone ledge by his cabin and tending to his staff.

“Oh, hello.” Dorian sounded rather chipper despite the bright red flush to his nose and the way his arms were folded around himself. One shoulder was conspicuously bare. “Lovely day, isn’t it? Is this as warm as it usually gets in Ferelden?”

“We’re in the mountains,” Hawke said. “If you wanted to get warm, maybe wearing two sleeves would be a start.”

“And deny everyone the sight of these gorgeous arms?” Dorian shuffled his feet, inching closer to Hawke. He leaned in to whisper, “Your friend over there is rather odd, isn’t he?”

“I can hear you, you know,” Solas said, not looking up.

Dorian didn’t look abashed in the least. “You didn’t deny it.”

Solas gave him a sharp look, eyebrows scrunching together. “Should I have?”

Turning back to Hawke, Dorian leaned in closer. “ _Odd_ ,” he repeated lowly.

Hawke turned his face so Solas couldn’t see the way his lips twitched. At the same time, he noticed Dorian’s eyes narrowing briefly, body swaying more into Hawke’s personal space.

“Is that – what kind of spell is that?” Dorian asked, shuffling even closer.

With only a scant inch between them, Hawke took a step back, warding Dorian off with a raised hand. “It’s not.”

“No one gives off that much heat naturally.” Dorian glanced down. “How is the snow not melting?”

Hawke exhaled loudly through his nose, reaching forward to brush fingers over Dorian’s bare shoulder. He pushed out magic, winding it through Dorian’s presence in the Fade.

Dorian’s eyes widened, a shiver running through him. “What was that?”

Hawke didn’t have a chance to answer, Solas stepping close to him. “Fascinating,” he said quietly, head tilted to the side. “Where did you learn that?”

“Here and there,” Hawke answered, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.

“Oh, he knows, too?” Dorian shot Solas a sidelong glance. “So that makes four of us, then?”

“They don’t like mages here,” Hawke said slowly, not looking at Solas. “And we were the only ones initially.”

“Not that Trevelyan said anything,” Solas said, dipping his head. “I sensed something amiss. How did you find out?”

Dorian’s eyes flicked to Hawke’s. “Oh, you know. Travel a year in the future, you learn some things.”

“Doubtlessly.” Solas inhaled. A flash of magic later, there was warmth coming from him. He smiled slightly in response to Hawke’s raised eyebrow. “It’s not something you learn in the Circle, which is why I wondered.”

“I wasn’t always in the Circle.”

“A rather good thing, don’t you think?” Dorian shook his head, rubbing his hands almost absentmindedly over his arms. “Your Circles seem more akin to prisons than a place to learn.”

Hawke’s mind turned to the atrocities he’d seen in the Gallows – to Anders. “You’d be right.”

“Would that also account for you not accusing me of using blood magic?” Dorian asked. “I’ve already had to listen to the diatribe from your esteemed Commander Cullen. He’s quite remarkable – if one gets past his atrocious fashion sense.”

Hawke shrugged, finding no harm in saying flatly, “You don’t use blood magic.”

Dorian paused, frowning. “Is that supposed to be a threat or a statement of fact?”

“It’s only a threat if you use it, but you don’t.” Hawke tilted his head, keeping his voice deliberately bland. “So I’m not sure why you’re feeling threatened.”

“That – that was a joke.” Dorian blinked. “Wasn’t it?”

“How are you so certain he doesn’t use blood magic?” Solas sounded curious.

“The same way I know you don’t.”

Solas raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I simply haven’t used it where you can see.”

Hawke resisted the urge to sigh for all of a second before giving in and blowing out a breath through his teeth. “I can’t explain it, Solas. But Dorian doesn’t use blood magic, and you don’t either.”

Solas studied Hawke for a moment longer before switching his focus to Dorian. “Curious for a Tevinter mage…”

“We don’t all approve of the use of blood magic,” Dorian huffed. “We may be a minority, but we’re still there. It’s messy and impractical, and I don’t fancy being beholden to a demon.”

“Blood magic does not necessarily require working with a demon,” Solas said calmly. “Granted, that is usually how mages learn the craft.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “So you know how to use it?”

“I have some knowledge of how it works, but I have never practiced it myself.” Solas glanced askance at Hawke. “It makes it difficult to access the Fade.”

The blood mages Hawke had seen all looked so  _physical_ , unlike other mages and even non-mages. Even Merrill…every time she used blood magic, it was as if a little more of the Fade drained away from her.

“But you don’t disapprove of it,” Hawke said flatly.

“Blood magic is a tool like any other magic,” Solas answered calmly. “It can be misused just like a sword can be.”

Hawke couldn’t help but snort. “You sound like a friend of mine. You two would get along well.”

“Another mage?”

“Yes.”

“You disapprove of blood magic,” Solas said slowly, “yet you are friends with a blood mage?”

“It’s not my place to police what others do.” Hawke shrugged. “I don’t like it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to dictate your choices. Unless you hurt me or someone I care about. All bets are usually off in that case.”

“He’s serious about that, you know,” Dorian said. “In case you were wondering.”

Solas hummed, saying nothing else for a moment. “You continue to surprise,” he said eventually. “I wonder what kind of hero you will be.”

Solas had said something of the sort before. Hawke wasn’t sure if he liked it anymore the second time around.

“The kind who accidentally blows things up,” Hawke said dryly. “Or not-so-accidentally.”

“Ha!” Dorian flashed a broad grin. “Nothing wrong with a good explosion, is there?”

“Depends on what the explosion is.”

“We are fortunate Cassandra isn’t here to hear this,” Solas said, smiling wryly.

Hawke shrugged. “She’ll hear worse. Probably already has from Varric.”

Solas moved his head in acknowledgement of the point. Dorian just snorted.

“Quite a dwarf,” Dorian said. “His  _Tale of the Champion_  made for interesting reading. It was all the rage in Tevinter, you know.” His voice was far too amused, eyes bright with laughter.

“I wouldn’t,” Hawke responded, lips twitching into a stiff smile. “I didn’t read it.”

Although his friends had while Varric had been publishing the individual chapters in Kirkwall. Hawke had heard enough about it secondhand to know that he didn’t need to read it to see what Varric made of his life story.

How heroic did one need to be, anyway?

According to Varric, the answer was  _very_.

It made for disappointing people when they actually met him, especially if he didn’t live up to what Varric had written about him.

“The mages are coming today, are they not?” Solas asked, smoothly changing the subject.

Hawke shot him a surprised look at the unexpected change in topic. “They are. I warned them about the templars.”

“You have Cole watching them,” Solas said noncommittally. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you accepted him.”

Hawke couldn’t keep the surprise out of his tone as he asked, “You’ve met Cole?”

Solas gave him an enigmatic smile. “I’m familiar with spirits. Cole may look human but he doesn’t act like one. He said you wanted him to make sure the mages and templars don’t fight.”

Hawke wasn’t entirely sure what Solas’s point was. “The last thing we need is a brawl.”

“It wasn’t a critique, merely an observation.” Solas tucked his hands behind his back. “A wise choice considering Cole’s talents.”

“Do I want to know who this Cole is or am I better off not knowing?” Dorian sounded wary.

“A spirit,” Solas answered before Hawke could. “Of what I am not entirely certain. I will need to observe him more.”

“They’re actually letting a spirit wander around?” Dorian’s voice was disbelieving.

“Cole didn’t give them much choice in the matter,” Hawke said wryly. “It’s difficult to catch what you can’t see.” He rolled his shoulders, discreetly slipping more magic towards Dorian to keep him warm. “On that note, I’ll sneak off myself. Pretend you didn’t see me.”

Dorian deliberately turned towards Solas. “Lovely weather we’re having today, isn’t it? How do you Fereldans stand it?”

Hawke slipped away, but not before he heard Solas respond. “I wouldn’t know, as I am not Fereldan.”

Heading in the direction of Leliana’s tent, Hawke lingered long enough for her to confirm that the mages hadn’t arrived yet and would he please check with Blackwall to see if he really  _didn’t_  know anything about the Wardens’ disappearance?

Considering Blackwall still looked confused and slightly dismayed anytime someone brought up the Wardens, Hawke highly doubted he had different answers now. It didn’t matter if the person asking the questions was Cassandra, Leliana, or Hawke.

But he promised to try nonetheless and then made his escape, sitting down on the wall right by Varric’s fire.

Varric started a bit at seeing Hawke sitting there, heels tapping against the cold stone. “Mind giving a little warning?”

“And miss out on surprising you?” Hawke gave him a quick grin.

Varric rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air. “You’re an ass.”

“Nice try, but shape shifting isn’t in my repertoire.”

Hawke swore he heard Varric mutter “ _Yet_ ” but there wasn’t anything else forthcoming.

Not that Hawke could become a shape shifter. Yes, turning into a fire-breathing dragon would be cool, but unfortunately that wasn’t something he could do. Not without possibly killing himself in the process, and Hawke rather liked being alive.

“I’m surprised you’re out here,” Varric said after Hawke jumped down from the wall to move closer to the fire.

“As opposed to being inside?” Hawke let his magic go, feeling the warmth siphon away from him. He shifted towards the fire, letting the natural heat soak into his skin.

“Yes.” Varric shot a look in the direction of Hawke’s cabin.

“He’s not staying inside either,” Hawke said, not looking away from the flames.

“You’re sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” Hawke admitted, eyes flickering up to meet Varric’s, “but I can’t force him to stay hidden. He’ll be fine.”

“You telling me that or yourself?”

“Both?” Hawke managed a small grin. “He can handle himself.”

“No kidding.” Varric rubbed his chin. “He should still stay away from Curly, though. You’ve slid by, but he hasn’t done anything and Curly knows him.”

“He knows.” Hawke pulled his hands away from the fire, bringing them to his thighs. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d care.”

“If the shit hits the fan, it’s not going to be pretty,” Varric said flatly. “Of course I care.”

“You’ll be clear of that when it happens,” Hawke said slowly, swallowing down a painful lump. “Not like the last time.”

Varric didn’t say anything for a long moment. When Hawke looked up at him, there was a strange expression on his friend’s face that he wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“Right.” Varric blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Uh…how you doing with the Iron Bull?”

“I’ve no idea,” Hawke said, managing a slightly cheerful tone, “since I haven’t seen him since we met yesterday. Why – have you talked to him?”

“Yeah.” Varric pointed to the tavern. “We grabbed a drink. He’s not bad as Qunari go. Definitely a little odd.”

“Good odd or bad odd?”

“He’s got a name that’s not like every other Qunari.” Varric shrugged. “I dunno. Try not to stab him? It’d piss Ruffles off, and no one wants a pissy diplomat.”

“He hasn’t done anything,” Hawke said, dropping his eyes to his hands. His chest gave a twang, a reminder of something that shouldn’t be forgotten.

“I know,” Varric said quietly. He paused, then came closer. “You okay?” His voice was a whisper.

“I’m fine.” Hawke resisted the urge to rub at his chest, pulling in a cold breath and looking towards the gate. It was open, but he couldn’t see any sign of the Iron Bull. “I should check on things.”

“Right.” Varric still sounded concerned. “Just…watch yourself, yeah?”

“It’ll be fine.” Hawke dropped a hand to Varric’s shoulder.

Varric didn’t say anything else until Hawke was several feet away, his voice quietly drifting after him. “That’s not what I asked.”

Pretending not to hear, Hawke continued down the steps and towards the gates. He couldn’t help but glance towards the cabin, but he couldn’t sense Anders in it. He did sense Anders elsewhere – thankfully not in the direction Cullen was in.

The Iron Bull was also nowhere in sight, at least until he stepped past the gates and immediately found a horned Qunari in his peripheral vision.

Hawke flinched back, only just managing to disguise the instinctive reaction as stepping on a slippery patch of snow.

“Hey, boss,” the Iron Bull greeted, not sounding at all suspicious.

“Am I?” Hawke asked before he could think the better of it.

The Iron Bull didn’t blink – or, well, he did, but it was a natural blink. “So you’re not the one these guys follow?”

“Not…so much?” Hawke wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that, glancing back at Cassandra. She’d been the one to put this whole thing together. “Honestly, I’m just the guy with the shiny hand.”

“An Inquisition without an Inquisitor… Huh.” The Iron Bull rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Should’ve figured.”

“Cassandra’s the one who’s been spearheading this,” Hawke said, jerking his thumb in Cassandra’s direction.

“She might’ve organized it, but she’s not the one making the decisions, is she?”

Hawke opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn’t exactly say she was, could he?

“Yeah, I figured,” the Iron Bull said a long moment later, nodding decisively. “So…boss.” He pointed to Hawke, grinning slyly.

The sight was odd on a Qunari. Hawke hadn’t really seen a Qunari grin before. If he had, it was usually preceded by spearing someone – probably him – on the sharp end of their weapon.

Shifting his weight, Hawke pulled at his collar before he could think the better of it, telling himself to  _breathe_. “You’re the only Qunari here?” he asked, trying for some conversation so the Iron Bull wouldn’t think he was being suspicious.

He was Ben-Hassrath, after all. One who was confident enough about his skills that he’d told Leliana and would let her look through his reports before sending them off.

Hawke’s only experience with a Ben-Hassrath agent was Tallis, and she hadn’t really been representative of Qunari (or the Ben-Hassrath). Only annoying and far too convinced that the Qunari were right, even if her heart had been in the right place.

“Unless there’s someone else lurking around that I haven’t noticed,” the Iron Bull answered easily. “Your advisors must’ve updated you on the details, right?”

“There wasn’t exactly a book they could hand me, but sure.”

The Iron Bull snorted, eye crinkling. “Nice sense of humor you’ve got there, boss. Think you’ll keep it?”

Hawke tilted his head, unease curling in his chest. The Iron Bull seemed so  _unthreatening_. There had to be a catch. “I haven’t lost it yet, so yes.”

“You’re an optimist, huh?” The Iron Bull nodded once, solemnly. “Good to know. You and Krem should get along well.”

“Krem?”

“My second.” The Iron Bull jerked his thumb in the direction of some tents, where Hawke could see a young man in armor milling about.

“Krem isn’t Qunari?” Hawke asked before he could stop himself.

“No.” The Iron Bull shrugged easily. “Like I said, it’s just me.”

“But they’re fine working with one?”

“I haven’t gotten any complaints, but feel free to ask them yourself.”

“I—”

Cullen’s call cut Hawke off. “Herald!”

Hawke turned at hearing the other’s footsteps, still keeping the Iron Bull in his peripheral vision. “Hm?”

“The mages are here,” Cullen said, eyes flicking once to the Iron Bull before returning to Hawke. “If you can, it would be good to meet with the Grand Enchanter and make plans for how we’re going to approach the Breach.”

Hawke dipped his head, exhaling at the reminder of what they still needed to do. “Right.” The word was quiet. “Get them settled in first.” He looked up at Cullen. “Without the templars looking over their shoulders.”

Cullen’s mouth pinched at that. “I may not like it,” he said in a clipped tone, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll go back on what you promised. The mages will be allies.” Giving Hawke one last look, he turned on his heel and headed in the direction of the gates.

“Gotta admit, offering the mages an alliance was a gutsy move,” the Iron Bull said after a moment.

Hawke whipped his head around far too quickly to be casual, but he managed to avoid the instinctive flinch back. Pulling in a breath, he shifted his feet and met the Iron Bull’s eye. “A gutsy move is a Qunari leading a mercenary band that joined the Inquisition formed by a Seeker. By that standard, allying with the mages is probably a three at best.”

“Well, when you put it like  _that_ …” The Iron Bull shrugged those massive shoulders, drawing his arms up to fold them across his chest. He glanced back at the Breach swirling in the sky. “A hole like that, you’ll need a lot of firepower to close it. Guess the mages are a good tool for that.”

Hawke didn’t answer, gaze following the Iron Bull’s to fix on the hole to the Fade. He’d grown used to ignoring how it felt, nerves desensitizing to the constant feel of the Fade brushing up against him. But it was so damn  _unnatural_.

There shouldn’t be a hole to the Fade in the sky.

New voices from behind him had Hawke turning, catching sight of the mages entering camp. They were a mixed bunch, adults and children grouped together. Most wore robes, but there were some who wore trousers and tunics. The adults flinched away from the sight of the templars, but there fortunately were no violent responses.

On the templars’ part, they did a relatively good job of looking as harmless as they possibly could, not one of them reaching for their weapons.

Hawke could see Fiona in the forefront, walking alongside Cullen and listening to whatever he was saying. He was also gesturing towards the village.

“That’s a lot of mages,” the Iron Bull said quietly.

“Worried?” Hawke asked automatically, a slight teasing note entering his tone. But he also couldn’t help but notice that there _were_ a lot of mages, and Haven wasn’t  _that_  big. Not unless they wanted to be right up against the templars.

“I’m usually a little worried about people who can set me on fire,” the Iron Bull said dryly.

“I heard the fire setting’s only for those who deliberately antagonize them.” Hawke flashed his teeth at the Iron Bull, rather gratified when the Qunari took a small step backwards. Although,  _really_ , it wasn’t like  _he_  was going to be setting anyone on fire while still pretending to be a rogue.

Backing away from the Iron Bull, Hawke waved at him and then proceeded to back up closer to the gate, half his attention still on the Iron Bull and the rest on the mages.

Fiona was still talking with Cullen, and he could tell that some of the other mages were getting antsy from how they were looking at the templars. Orsino wasn’t anywhere in sight – probably somewhere in the group where Cullen couldn’t see him – and Fiona was too busy to do much.

Without a second thought, Hawke headed towards them.

If he wasn’t going to be helping the mages, he’d be staring up at that hole in the sky, and the last thing Hawke wanted was to spend more time staring into the Fade than necessary.

* * *

It was some time later when Hawke was setting up a tent for a woman and a young child when someone spoke to him about something that wasn’t related to how many tents he could please set up.

“I’m glad to see you are well.” Orsino’s voice was quiet.

Hawke glanced back at him, seeing that Orsino had a hooded cloak on that hid his elfish features from Cullen. Another glance showed that Cullen wasn’t anywhere near. “Should I not be?”

“I admit I had my doubts after the mess in Kirkwall,” Orsino admitted.

The words had Hawke pausing where he was pulling on a rope to straighten the cloth out. Then, not looking back at Orsino, he asked, “When did you figure it out?”

“The first night when we met in Redcliffe,” Orsino answered. “It’s likely I wouldn’t have were it not for the dwarf and healer at your side. There is only one man I know who feels as strongly as you do and backs it up with action.”

“And you didn’t immediately turn us out on our asses?” Hawke shot him an incredulous look.

Orsino’s face turned puzzled. “Why would I have? We needed help and you offered it. That it was  _you_  was unexpected fortune.”

“I’m fortunate?” Hawke snorted, stepping on the bolt in the icy ground and pressing it down deeper with a small application of heat to melt the dirt. No one noticed the use of magic. “That’s a first.”

“We would not be here were it not for you,” Orsino said, a bite in his words. “That is indeed  _fortunate_.”

“Kirkwall collapsed around our ears,” Hawke hissed, stepping around the tent to secure the other bolts, “and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. I helped  _cause_  it. So why in the Void would you want  _my_  help?”

Orsino followed Hawke, stepping in close to drop his voice so no one else could hear. “What happened in Kirkwall wasn’t your fault. You tried to help, but it was a band-aid on an open wound. You did more than anyone could have hoped, but what Meredith did is not your blame to shoulder.”

“Who blew up the Chantry?” Hawke murmured, unmoving and looking down at his feet.

A heavy sigh was Orsino’s initial response. His voice was weary as he said, “You and I both know that Meredith would have found some way of calling for the Rite of Annulment regardless of what happened that night. The Chantry may have given her an excuse, but she would have found another if it hadn’t happened.”

Hawke didn’t say that it wasn’t supposed to have played out like that. The words stuck in his throat, and he shuffled his feet, snow crunching under his weight.

“Thank you,” Orsino said quietly, resting a hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “There’s no one else I trust to face the threat that looms over us now. The Maker blessed us with your presence…Champion.” The last word was a whisper, a breath of air that only Hawke caught.

Then he was gone, moving into the crowd of mages, cloak sweeping out behind him.

Hawke spent another moment staring at his feet, head bowed as his fingers flexed where they were holding onto a rope of the tent. After a few more seconds, he shook his head, refocusing on his task.

When he was done with that tent, the woman and child both thanked him profusely, the child looking up at him with more awe than putting up a tent merited and the woman reaching out to hug him briefly.

Once detangling himself from the two, Hawke wondered just how many mages knew who he was.

Knowing his luck, it would be all of them.

* * *

It didn’t seem to be all of them, as Fiona didn’t treat him differently or shoot him sidelong looks like  _some_  mages had done while he was helping set up their camp. She just asked him if he was doing fine and thanked him again for giving the mages another chance.

And then they were swept into a discussion with Cullen and Cassandra as to when the mages would be prepared to tackle the Breach.

The general consensus was it would take at least a day to make sure the mages were rested and Fiona could see who was up to the task, but it took so much arguing and back-and-forth that Hawke eventually just ended up flipping through the giant Inquisition charter book that was still lying in the war room.

Even Cassandra’s sidelong glare wasn’t enough to make him stop.

It was late evening when Hawke finally managed to leave the Chantry, Fiona close on his heels. They’d agreed to try to close the Breach in two days to give everyone enough time to prepare.

Hawke wasn’t sure if there was such a thing as enough time to prepare to close a thing like a hole to the Fade. But he wasn’t in charge of rallying the troops so he supposed it wasn’t really his job to evaluate that.

He just needed to make sure he didn’t pass out like he had last time.

But that was what the mages were supposed to help with, right?

Shaking the thought off, Hawke dipped his head to Fiona as she headed towards the gates and the mages’ camp. They were still settling in when Hawke had left, but at least all the tents had been set up and the templars had stayed clear.

Haven was dark except for the fires and torches lit, providing a warm ambience that was only slightly marred by the green glow of the Breach.

Anders was sitting by the campfire with Varric, hood drawn up to hide his features. It left him looking rather suspicious but better that than Cullen recognizing him.

“All sorted out?” Varric asked when Hawke came by.

“The day after tomorrow,” Hawke answered, unable to resist looking up at the glowing hole in the sky. It was a lot more obvious in the dark without sunlight to combat the glow.

“I’d have thought they’d want to do it immediately,” Anders said, reaching up to take hold of Hawke’s closest hand and pull him down to sit.

Hawke pulled over a blanket to sit on, bumping shoulders against Anders’s. “Cullen wanted to but they need to make sure they’ve got everything sorted out. Like how to help so they don’t blow something up. Like me.”

“Blowing up the Herald would put a crimp in things,” Varric agreed, nodding sagely. He sobered an instant later. “Are  _you_  ready?”

“You should know by now that I was born ready.”

“And here I thought the glowy hand was a new thing.”

Anders folded his hand around Hawke’s left, cracks of white bursting through skin at the contact. “How is it?”

“It’s not threatening to kill me right now.” Hawke flexed his fingers at the feeling of Justice so close. “It doesn’t hurt if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“It’s a literal door to the Fade,” Anders said quietly, lifting his head enough for Hawke to see his shadowed eyes. “I’d be surprised if it  _wasn’t_  hurting.”

“Is that why Justice is so interested?” Hawke murmured.

“It’s the actual Fade,” Anders replied, dipping his head. “He hasn’t been that close in a long time.” He hesitated, his next words a whisper. “Does it…bother you?”

Hawke turned his head, leaning closer to Anders’s head. The hood blocked any skin contact, but he could still lean in. “It’s fine, remember? All of you.”

Anders’s grip tightened, the only indication Hawke had that he’d heard.

A moment later, Varric coughed, sounding embarrassed. “Well…you two planning on sleeping in my tent tonight? Can’t say I’d be upset about sleeping at yours tonight.”

Hawke turned back, flashing Varric a teasing smile. “Not much of a voyeur, Varric?”

“Get a bedroom and we’ll talk,” Varric said. “Otherwise no, since I’m not really into foursomes.”

“But that’s the best part!” Anders quipped, teeth glinting in the firelight.

“Are you implying something?” Hawke asked.

“Not at all,” Anders said. “Only that Varric isn’t considering Bianca. Which makes it a five-some.” He paused. “Quintuplet? Or is it an orgy at that point?”

Hawke decided it was time to leave when Varric looked like he was seriously considering the merits of throwing something.

* * *

_“There’s something I don’t understand.”_

_“Hm?” He looked up, seeing Anders chewing on the end of his pen. “I don’t think you should be chewing on that.”_

_“What?” Anders pulled the pen out, only to stare at it in bafflement. “I thought I got rid of that habit,” he muttered. Shaking his head, he put the pen down. “There’s something I don’t understand,” he repeated._

_“What is it?”_

_“Why you’re so – so…”_

_“Me?” he suggested, smiling brightly._

_Anders actually paused, considering that. “You,” he agreed eventually._

_“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”_

_“It’s not bad,” Anders said. “I’ve just…well…you know the first time we met? We – I didn’t know what to make of you. Justice didn’t. You didn’t look like anyone else I’ve ever seen.”_

_“I’m starting to think there’s something very wrong with my face that no one’s told me about.”_

_“Your face’s fine,” Anders said, not seeming to realize that he’d been joking. He was frowning. “It’s…Maker, I don’t have words for this. It’s a feeling. You just seemed like…more. Like…take Merrill.”_

_“What about Merrill?” He was getting increasingly alarmed now._

_“Merrill’s a mage, even if she uses blood magic. But put you two next to each other, and I could pick you out blindfolded. There’s something about you that just overshadows everything else. I haven’t seen it with anyone else.”_

_He didn’t respond, head ducking as he studied the floor._

_There was a long silence, which was broken by Anders scooting his chair back and coming closer. “Love?” He sounded nervous._

_“You’re bright,” he said finally, looking up to meet Anders’s worried eyes. “So bright. It was the first thing I noticed when I saw you. I didn’t know what it was until I saw Justice later that night. It’s something I can see and something I can feel about you.” He reached out tentatively to take hold of Anders’s hand, breathing in the essence of the Fade that was always around Anders. “I don’t know how to describe it, only that I’m always aware of the Fade. Maybe that’s what you’re seeing.”_

_Anders was silent, but he gripped back reassuringly. “You…you’re close to the Fade,” he said eventually, quietly. “That’s what it is.” He reached out to run fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. “We – Justice finds it soothing. Always has,” he murmured. “It’s why we trusted you.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“It’s not why I fell in love with you,” Anders continued softly, untangling their hands to reach up and cup his face._

_“Was it my dashing good looks?” he quipped, mouth dry._

_Light flickered in Anders’s eyes, and the taste of the Fade sharpened on his tongue. “Because you care.”_

_Anders was already leaning down, but he was the one who reached up to close the rest of the distance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think next chapter is the Breach? And then we fall into chaos. ~~Maaayyyheeem~~
> 
> Sera and Vivienne aren't yet in the party, but they have their own planned debut roles. Albeit far later than in the game because Hawke isn't going to Val Royeaux. No, he has _things_ to do. (Josephine is in despair. Cullen rather approves of this straightforward character, even if he can't get over the idea that he's rather familiar.)
> 
> Thoughts? Screaming? Flailing?


	10. Haven V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeahhh...hey? I don't have an excuse for not updating in ages, but what I am going to try and do is keep posting on a weekly basis until we get to Skyhold, and then putting this on hold until I get to the Winter Palace before resuming a regular posting schedule.
> 
> Given how large this story will be, it's for the best that I do something like that.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for being patient! And forgive me for the cliffhanger I'll leave you guys on... But I do plan on updating next Saturday!
> 
> (Kick me if it doesn't happen. I have a [tumblr](http://inukagome15.tumblr.com).)

_“You’re not thinking of leaving me behind, are you?” Carver demanded._

_He pursed his lips, eyes going to a particularly interesting spot on the building just past Carver’s shoulder._

_“You are!” Carver’s voice was disgusted. “I thought we were in this together!”_

_“Someone needs to look after Mother,” he said._

_“Get one of your friends to do it,” Carver suggested. “Or do it yourself if you’re so keen on it.”_

_“You know that’s not a good idea—”_

_“You and I both know the templars have no idea who the hell you are or what you can do,” Carver said, words almost a hiss. “This place is as safe as the Deep Roads for now.”_

_His mouth snapped shut, and he swallowed painfully. How could he explain something he didn’t even have words for half the time?_

_That persistent, crawling feeling over his skin that felt like thousands of bugs were skittering over him every second of every day. The shadows he kept seeing in his peripheral vision that twisted in unnatural ways. The echoes of screams, inhuman and human, that underlay everything._

_And the way his magic still felt **wrong**  even though he’d been here over a year._

_“Unless you think something’s going to go wrong?” Carver prompted, arms folded across his chest._

_“Something always goes wrong,” he said wryly, glad to have something else to focus on. “But no. It should be fine.”_

_Rather than reassure Carver, the only thing this seemed to make him do was panic. It was a quiet sort of panic, but it was a panic that he recognized. “Maker damn it. I **should**  go with you.”_

_“What?” He tried not to let his confusion show. “That’s not what I said.”_

_“I know what you said,” Carver said. “I also know it means I should go with you and that it means you’re going to leave me behind unless I turn into a dwarf and replace someone else.”_

_“You wouldn’t be you if you were a dwarf.”_

_“It’d give me a better chance at kicking your ass.” Carver scowled. “If you think it’s going to be **fine** ”—the word was sneered—“then why don’t you let me go instead?”_

_The words came out before he could stop them, a quiet plea. “Carver, please.”_

_There was no reason it should have worked, but for some reason Carver just…stopped. He looked conflicted. “What is it?”_

_Carver didn’t sound accusing, and it was that which helped him get the words out. “I need to get out of Kirkwall. Just for a little. And Mother…she shouldn’t be alone.”_

_“She’s got Gamlen…but he’s not much company.” Carver shook his head. “You really need this, don’t you?”_

_He didn’t reply, meeting Carver’s eyes._

_It took a few minutes, but eventually Carver sighed, arms coming down to his sides. “Fine. You’ll go. Without me. I’ll stay here with Mother. Just one last thing…” His eyes were piercing. “Do you think there’s going to be a problem down there?”_

_He hesitated, unsure of how to put it into words that he thought things were running too smoothly, that something was shifty about Varric’s brother. But he was overthinking things, wasn’t he? “No,” he answers eventually. “It’ll be fine.”_

_Carver’s brow pinched. “Okay,” he said, sounding far more dubious than expected. “I’m…gonna go over there.” He lifted a hand to point a thumb over his shoulder in Anders’s direction. “Just…y’know.”_

_And with that vague statement that clarified absolutely nothing, Carver left._

_He spent a minute staring after Carver and wondering just what that had been about before shaking himself back into action and going to confirm with Varric just who he was going to be taking._

_The Deep Roads were trouble, but at least it wasn’t Kirkwall._

* * *

_“It’s the Hawke!”_

_“You are what held me. I smell the blood in you.”_

_A deafening roar pierced the air, followed by the thundering sound of what seemed like a mountain collapsing._

With a strangled gasp, Hawke found himself lurching awake, grip tightening instinctively around the warmth against his side. He trembled, breath coming fast as his heart pounded in his chest. His skin felt clammy in the cold morning air, and he couldn’t help but bury himself closer to Anders.

Anders mumbled something under his breath, stirring briefly. “Mm?”

“It’s okay,” Hawke breathed, heart beating just a bit too fast. “Go back to sleep.”

Thankfully Anders did, leaving Hawke lying there with the vestiges of half-remembered terror lingering in his mind.

It faded gradually as he kept breathing, but there was a looming sense of  _dread_  that persisted, no matter how many times he told himself it would be fine.

The problem was…there was no predicting Corypheus.

And Hawke had pissed him off multiple times. An angry enemy was an unpredictable one, especially if they were an ancient darkspawn magister.

Pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, Hawke stared up at the wooden ceiling.

He’d close the Breach tomorrow. It was possible now with the mages’ help.

But…what would happen afterwards? What if something happened to  _him_?

Disentangling himself from Anders, Hawke sat up and slowly slid out of bed. He pulled the covers up, making sure Anders was covered.

Several minutes later, Hawke closed the door of the cabin behind him, eyes immediately going to the Breach. The sight of it didn’t make him feel better, stomach roiling at what it meant.

Deliberately turning his eyes away, Hawke headed in Varric’s direction. His friend was already awake and heating something up over the fire that he kept right by his tent.

“Hey,” Varric said, waving the hand that wasn’t currently holding a spoon. “In the mood for some”—he glanced down at the pot—“broth?”

“It concerns me that you had to look to see what it is.”

“Flissa gave it to me,” Varric said. “So I’m not entirely sure what went into this other than a lot of alcohol. Maybe.” He sniffed the spoon. “Or it could be I’m smelling old meat.”

“I’ll…pass.” Hawke shot the pot a dubious look.

Varric snorted, dipping the spoon into the pot to stir it. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I left it with the Breach.”

“Think you’ll get it back tomorrow?”

“I’ll ask for it.” Hawke paused, biting the inside of his mouth anxiously.

Varric dropped the spoon into the pot. That there wasn’t even any sound as it hit the “broth” was rather disconcerting. “You okay?” His tone was subdued, eyes worried as he looked up at Hawke.

“I…” Hawke pressed a hand to his mouth briefly before reaching up to rub his forehead. “Could you promise me something?”

Varric looked rather like he wanted to crack a joke but decided not to. “Yeah.”

“If something happens…can you watch Anders?”

It was probably a good thing Varric had let go of the spoon. He’d likely have dropped it in the snow otherwise from how he reacted. “You need—” He cut himself off, eyes flicking around. A moment later, he started again, more quietly. “You need me to watch Blondie?”

“He’s not going to blow anything up,” Hawke said, barely managing to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Can you make sure nothing happens to him?”

“Wouldn’t the spirit in him do a better job of that?”

“He won’t run,” Hawke said. “That’s not in him. Which is why I’m asking  _you_ …knock him out if you have to. Just make sure he doesn’t put himself in danger. Please.”

Varric’s “Hawke” was more of an exhalation than an actual sound.

Hawke dipped his head, desperation forcing more words forth. “I know you hate him, Varric, but  _please_. If something happens, I need to know that he’ll be safe.”

“I—” Varric sounded appalled, eyes wide. “You think I hate him?”

“I know you’re not friends,” Hawke said quietly. “I know that after what happened in Kirkwall you don’t want anything to do with him. But, Varric…” He trailed off, unsure of what else he could say to convince his friend. “Please,” was all he could manage.

Varric didn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment, something in his eyes that Hawke couldn’t read.

“Nothing’s going to happen, Hawke,” Varric said eventually, voice quiet. “But if it does…yeah. I promise.”

A weight Hawke hadn’t even realized existed lifted off his shoulders, and the looming sense of dread lightened slightly.

“Thank you,” he breathed, closing his eyes and dropping his chin.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Varric’s voice was wry, and when Hawke opened his eyes, he had a small smile on his face. “I might not even need to do anything. But if he goes all fire and brimstone and I end up having to  _knock him out_ …you’re gonna owe me a hell of a lot of drinks.”

“Hell, Varric…I’ll buy you a  _bar_.”

“Hm.” Varric thumbed his chin. “Make it The Hanged Man and that might be worth it.”

“Maybe when you’re viscount,” Hawke said, since it was a sore spot for Varric that he’d never been able to get the deed for the bar.

Varric made a face. “ _Blasphemy_.” A second later his nose wrinkled and he glanced down at the pot. “Andraste’s ass, did I  _burn_  this?”

“Might be for the best,” Hawke managed without laughing. “Less chance of getting poisoned.”

Varric shot Hawke an injured look. “You owe me breakfast, too.”

If Varric would make sure Anders was safe, Hawke would happily buy him breakfast for the rest of his life.

* * *

There wasn’t much to do in Haven, so once Hawke left Varric to his fresh breakfast that wasn’t mysterious broth he went to see where Anders was. Otherwise he’d just be wandering around and getting into people’s business.

Leliana seemed particularly sour that morning, muttering about a scout that had apparently done something they weren’t supposed to, and Hawke was not going to get on the bad end of  _that_.

Finding Anders wasn’t difficult considering Haven’s small size. He hadn’t left the village itself, instead turning off to a relatively secluded area that had a few trebuchets and some soldiers discussing plans to build more. The last Hawke had heard, they were arguing about  _why_  they needed to build more.

No one seemed to have won the argument as Hawke walked past them, although one was insisting that trebuchets might come in useful some day while the other was asking  _why trebuchets, sir_.

Anders wasn’t involved at all, his back to the soldiers and eyes on the trebuchet furthest from Haven.

“There a reason you’re admiring the trebuchet?” Hawke asked as he came up behind Anders.

Anders turned his head, flashing Hawke a small smile over his shoulder. His hood was still up, but the sun was bright enough that Hawke could see his face. “It’s not that.”

“Then?”

“Did you know the Warden-Commander was in Haven during the Blight?” Anders said in a seeming non-sequitur. “She was looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes to cure the Arl of Redcliffe.”

Hawke stood next to Anders, shooting him a sidelong look. “You weren’t with her at that time.”

“I joined up after,” Anders answered. “But she told us about it. Or me, rather. I’d been going off on that statue of Andraste in the courtyard of Vigil’s Keep, and she said she’d touched Andraste’s ashes. That it was the most amazing experience she’d ever had, and she didn’t think Andraste would be the kind to vilify mages.” His voice was quiet. “I didn’t tell her then but…it meant a lot to have her listen to me.” His smile was wry. “Most of what I said didn’t make much sense, but…”

“She heard you.”

“A talent of hers.” Anders glanced to the side, eyes skimming over the rocks bordering them. “There’s a network of tunnels running under Haven. They apparently lead right to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It’s where the cult hid when they weren’t pretending to be a perfectly normal village.”

Hawke wasn’t entirely sure where Anders was going with this and said as much.

“I don’t either.” Anders sighed, reaching up to tug at the edge of his hood. “I was just…thinking. And then I saw something like a crack in the ground and I remembered what the Warden-Commander told me. I can’t believe I’m actually here, and that the temple is just rubble now. Would’ve been nice to see where Andraste’s ashes were.”

“You can,” Hawke said. “It’s where we’ll be going to close the Breach.”

“Not quite the same thing as seeing it intact.” Anders frowned up at the Breach. “I’m not sure if I’m happy or disgusted by what happened. The Conclave was…” He broke off, making a frustrated noise.

Hawke thought he knew where Anders was trying to go. “It might have worked.”

“And it might not have.” Anders pressed his fingers to his mouth. “I don’t…she never listened. All those letters…it didn’t come to anything.” He sounded irritated. “Just…the Chantry isn’t at fault. Why should it be?” The words were bitter.

“This probably isn’t the best place for this,” Hawke cautioned, glancing behind him.

The soldiers were still caught up in their discussion, but there was another man milling about that Hawke hadn’t seen before. He was wearing templar armor and looked strangely familiar.

“I know.” Anders’s mouth twisted. “Sorry.”

A strong gust of wind blew past them, knocking off Anders’s hood before he could catch it. He snagged hold of it, bringing it up and holding it in place.

For an instant, Hawke missed the unobstructed view he’d had of Anders’s face. It was probably the only reason it took him a moment too long to respond with a rather mumbled “It’s fine.”

“You look a little like someone just punched you,” Anders said, amused.

Well,  _Anders_  had…in a sense—

There wasn’t a sound, but the sudden void of  _nothing_  that slammed into Anders had Hawke flinching and stumbling, falling flat on his ass as his own magic jolted out before he could reign it in. It streaked out behind him, sending snow flying from the pure force.

“Abomination!” an unfamiliar voice shouted. “Get away from him, Herald!”

Snapping his head to the side, Hawke caught sight of the templar from before running towards them, sword drawn.

Had he just  _smote Anders_?

The sudden surge of spirit energy from where previously there had been nothing had Hawke flinching again, although there was nowhere to go from his position on the ground. “I am no  _abomination_ ,” Justice’s voice snapped.

Ander’s hood had flown off again, and there was no hiding the light bursting through cracks in his skin or how his eyes were glowing white.

“Run, Herald!” the templar shouted, his other hand coming up in a familiar move that Hawke recognized from his spars with Carver.

Fuck, if he got close enough to Justice—

There was no thinking involved as Hawke sent a dagger flying, hitting the templar’s free hand and breaking his focus. He scrambled to his feet, jumping in-between Justice and the templar and slamming directly into the templar’s midriff.

They went sprawling, the snow cushioning some of the impact but not enough. Hawke’s chin bashed into the templar’s chest plate, his head ringing with the impact.

But the angry flare of spirit energy behind him kept him focused, all too aware of what it would mean if Justice killed someone here.

Even if the blighted templar had struck first.

The templar surged up, succeeding in knocking Hawke to the ground.

Hawke retaliated, swiping his legs under the templar’s and throwing himself onto the templar’s back, bringing his other dagger to the templar’s neck before he could rethink the action. The templar froze under him at the touch of metal to skin, and Hawke looked up in time to see Justice pointing Anders’s staff directly in his face.

It was rather terrifying to be on the other end of that anger. There was no sign of  _Anders_  in that face, the eyes a glowing white and light bursting through his skin in jagged lines.

“Justice…” Hawke kept his voice low, eyes meeting Justice’s. “Put that down.”

“He wanted to kill us,” Justice said flatly, not budging an inch.

“He’s not going to,” Hawke said as calmly as he could. “I won’t let him.”

The templar twitched under him. Hawke adjusted his weight before the man could make any attempts at escaping, his dagger a sharp warning at the templar’s neck.

“But if you kill him,” Hawke continued, somehow managing to still keep calm, “then that will make things a lot harder.”

“One less templar is no hardship,” Justice snarled.

Hawke’s hand tightened where he had the templar’s sword hand pinned to the ground. He didn’t look away from Justice’s face. “We can’t afford this, Justice. Please…put the staff down.”

Justice wouldn’t attack him. Hawke  _knew_  that. But it would be easy enough to knock Hawke off and then kill the templar.

After a long, paralyzing moment where Hawke was keenly aware of Justice’s energy itching at his skin and the templar’s unmoving form underneath him, Justice stepped back, dropping the staff to a more casual position.

“Thank you,” Hawke said, sounding far more relieved than he really wanted to. He turned his attention to the templar. “Any sudden moves, and you’ll wish I let him have you.”

The templar nodded stiffly, which was enough for Hawke to slide off his back and stand, kicking aside the sword so it wasn’t an option for the templar to grab.

The templar stood rather noisily, armor clanking. He stared disbelievingly at Hawke, eyes flickering to Justice. “Herald,” he started, “do you know who that  _is_?”

“ _You_!” Cullen’s voice snapped through the tense air. “What are you doing here?” And then, “Herald!”

Cullen was standing not far off, eyes wide and hand on the hilt of his sword. He moved to draw it, already striding forward.

“Shit,” Hawke hissed, whirling towards Justice, who was lifting Anders’s staff. “ _Don’t_!”

He grabbed hold of Justice’s arm, skin tingling at the feel of spirit energy, and tried to bring it back down. He couldn’t budge it, but Justice didn’t move any further, eyes on Hawke.

Hawke half turned towards Cullen, stepping in-between them. He saw the way Cullen’s left arm snapped back down to his side, a holy smite broken before it was unleashed.

“Step away from him, Herald.” Cullen’s voice was tight, his body just as tense, but he thankfully didn’t come any closer.

“I’m not letting you hurt him,” Hawke said, the edges of his voice strained. “Or him hurt you,” he added, glancing back at Justice.

“Do you know who that is?” Cullen demanded.

“I do,” Hawke answered tersely. “Which is also why I’m telling you to back off.”

“I can take care of him,” Justice said lowly, voice reverberating through Hawke’s bones. His arm was still tense in Hawke’s grip.

“No,” Hawke said instantly.

There was no sound, but Justice scowled. He did drop his arm, taking a more defensive stance than one actively antagonistic.

“Why are you protecting him?” The unfamiliar templar sounded bewildered.

“Because no one else will,” Hawke said flatly. “And he’s not hurting anyone.”

“He’s hurt a lot of people,” Cullen shot back.

Others were beginning to come see what the fuss was about. Hawke could see Cassandra and Varric at the forefront, although the Iron Bull’s distinctive horns were in the background.

“He hasn’t hurt anyone here,” Hawke said eventually. “And he won’t unless you threaten him.”

Justice shifted uneasily behind him but didn’t say anything.

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be so sure?”

“Did he attack anyone before someone  _smote_  him?” Hawke snapped. “If you back off, he’ll calm down.”

Cullen didn’t move for a long moment, sunlight reflecting off the metal of his blade. Then, heaving a sigh, he sheathed his weapon, raising his eyebrows. “All right. But we need to talk about this  _after_  he’s stopped the glowing.”

The templar by Cullen didn’t react beyond giving the other a betrayed expression, but Cullen either didn’t see it or chose to ignore it.

Assured that they wouldn’t try anything funny, Hawke turned to Justice. “Can you let Anders out?” he asked quietly.

Justice frowned, mouth turning down. “Is it…?”

“I won’t let anything happen.”

Light flickering where it was visible in his skin, Justice tilted his chin up, a familiar tic Hawke had seen Anders do. “If they try anything…”

“Defend yourself,” Hawke murmured. “Preferably without lethal methods unless there’s no other solution.”

Justice dipped his head in acknowledgement. His attention seemed to turn to the people behind Hawke for a brief moment before he closed his eyes and the white spirit light bursting through Anders’s skin faded.

The moment Justice withdrew, Anders sagged, his normally bright presence in the Fade unusually dim thanks to the holy smite from earlier. Hawke caught him before he could fall over, hands going to Anders’s waist.

“Fuck,” Anders breathed raggedly, shaking. “What – did he—?”

“No one’s hurt,” Hawke said quietly. “He didn’t do anything.”

“Thank the Maker.” Anders shuddered briefly before stilling. “But they know—”

“I can handle it.” Hawke didn’t say anything else, hands tightening briefly. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Anders said after a moment. “It doesn’t affect me like it does you.”

“Let’s all thank whomever decided that because it’s a small mercy.”

There was a small snort from Anders, which was just about all Hawke had hoped for. Judging from the looks on Cullen’s and Cassandra’s faces, there was going to be hell to pay.

* * *

“ _Anders_?” Cassandra demanded as soon as they were in the war room of the Chantry, Josephine and Leliana behind Hawke. She rounded on Hawke, eyes accusing. “Your contact is the abomination  _Anders_? The same one who destroyed Kirkwall’s Chantry?”

“That’s going to follow me for a while, isn’t it?” Anders muttered, retreating to the corner of the room furthest from Cullen.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep quiet,” Cullen snapped. “I can’t believe you just walked into Haven.”

“Honestly, I can’t either,” Anders said blithely. “Terrible security you’ve got here.”

“You’ve some nerve,” Josephine said sharply, “after what you  _did_!”

“Shall we go over it again from the beginning? I can do that if you’d like.” Anders folded his arms, raising his eyebrows. “Where should I start?”

“We’re not,” Hawke said before Josephine could retort. “That’s not why we’re here.”

“You knew who he was!” Cassandra accused.

“I did.”

“You – you  _lied_  to us!” Cassandra sounded betrayed, like she could scarcely believe Hawke would have done such a thing.

“Yes?” Hawke tilted his head. “At least, I didn’t tell you his name.”

“You’re being overly pedantic. You could have told us from the beginning just  _who_  he was—”

“Considering your view on all things Chantry-related, I could see that going splendidly.” Hawke raised his hands. “Why do you  _think_  I didn’t say anything? I’m not going to let you lock him up or kill him.”

“We—” Cassandra broke off, scowling as she looked back at the other three.

Leliana spoke next, her voice calm. “Your concerns are noted, Trevelyan.”

Cullen’s head snapped up. “You can’t expect us to let him walk around scot free!”

“Some provisions need to be made—”

“You set a templar on me, the next thing that’ll happen is they’ll find a convenient spot and kill me,” Anders said flatly.

“He stays with me,” Hawke said, his tone just as flat as Anders’s.

Cullen narrowed his eyes, clearly intending to say something when Cassandra spoke first.

“How do you two even know each other?” Cassandra’s gaze flicked between Hawke and Anders. “You were with the Champion, were you not? What happened? Why aren’t you with him?”

“We decided to separate,” Anders answered flatly, not even glancing at Hawke. “There was something he needed to do, and I couldn’t go with him.”

“But Trevelyan?”

“We ran into him after Kirkwall,” Anders said. “Hawke ran a job with him before; he didn’t seem to mind most of our eccentricities.” His smile was wry. “Finding any kind of person like that is…difficult. So here we are.”

“And where is the Champion now?” The expression Cassandra shot Hawke suggested she thought it was possible he was hiding the Champion of Kirkwall up a sleeve.

Hawke did share a look with Anders now, answering, “I don’t know. He didn’t give any contact information.”

“He just left you?” Cassandra sounded disbelieving, eyes darting back to Anders.

“It isn’t like he wanted to,” Anders snapped. “But sometimes things just…happen. I’m fine,” he added sharply. “Hawke’s fine, too. He usually is.”

Considering Hawke was standing in the same room as Anders, that was easy enough to say.

“Now  _that_  I can believe,” Cullen said.

Hawke wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or worried by his reputation. Varric’s tales left a lot to live up to.

“Whatever the Champion wanted, we can’t let you roam here alone,” Cullen continued. “There are a few other templars from Kirkwall here, as well as some mages.”

“You’re not locking him up,” Hawke said sharply.

“You don’t have to concern yourself with this anymore—”

“He’d kill me if I let anything happen to him,” Hawke snapped.

Anders shot him a sidelong look. “I know he didn’t say that.”

“Not in front of you,” Hawke said. “But I rather like being alive, and I’d rather not tell the Champion I left his lover to the Inquisition and the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall.”

“You’re taking this personally,” Leliana said, surprised. “It’s more than the Champion entrusting him to your care.”

Hawke didn’t answer immediately, considering his answer. He knew a little about the Trevelyan family. Not a lot, but enough… “My sister was a mage,” he said eventually, quiet. “She was the kindest person you’d meet – hated the thought of hurting anyone. When our parents found out, she was immediately locked up in the Circle, and they swept her existence under the rug. Can’t have a mage in the family, can we?” His smile was chilly. “I tried keeping in contact with her, but you know how the Circles are. And since the rebellion, I have no idea what happened to her, only that what happened wasn’t right and shouldn’t have been done. So, yes, Leliana, this is rather personal.”

Truth and lie woven together in a manner that would have made Varric proud. Hawke didn’t flinch away from Leliana’s gaze, meeting and holding her eyes.

“Anders stays with me,” Hawke said evenly. “There won’t be any trouble unless you create it.”

“We can’t let an  _abomination_  walk around Haven!” Cullen protested. “Not with the Breach still an active threat!”

Hawke bit back the instinctive response to say Anders  _wasn’t_  an abomination. It would tip his hand. “As I said before,” he said stiffly, “he didn’t do anything until one of your templars  _smote_  him. If you can avoid doing that again, we’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Be that as it may, we can’t have him walking around by himself,” Cullen insisted.

“Then I won’t,” Anders said before Hawke could. “I’ll stay with him.” He nodded towards Hawke. “But I can’t guarantee anything if you set a templar on me. They don’t tend to agree with me.”

The other four exchanged looks, expressions a mixture of displeased, concerned, contemplative, and angry.

Eventually Cassandra made a disgruntled noise and turned towards Hawke. “Keep an eye on him,” she warned. “There is only so much we can do.”

“Once the Breach is sealed,” Cullen said, eyes on Anders, “we’ll reevaluate.”

Hawke’s lips thinned. If push came to shove, Hawke would leave the Inquisition and figure out some other way of going after Corypheus. It wasn’t worth putting Anders at risk.

But he nodded once. “Understood.”

Anders was safe for now, and that was all that really mattered.

He could deal with the Breach and what would happen afterwards tomorrow.

* * *

“Well, now,” Dorian said, voice far too bright considering what had just happened, “that wasn’t  _too_  bad, was it?”

“What’s your definition of ‘bad’?” Anders asked, sounding unimpressed.

“No one’s waving anything pointy at you,” Dorian pointed out, promptly receiving a frown from Solas and ignoring it. “And judging from the lack of outcry, not everyone knows?”

“Everyone knows,” Anders said, sighing. “Justice is rather hard to hide when it’s out in the open like that.”

“You were aware of who he was,” Solas said to Hawke, voice quiet.

Hawke shrugged, leaning back against the closed door of Solas’s cabin. They’d been dragged into it by a very interested Dorian and frowning Solas, although the elf hadn’t protested the usurping of his space. “No offense, but I couldn’t trust that you’d keep quiet.”

“I knew,” Dorian said cheerfully. “You were all glowy when we were in the future. Bit hard to hide any secrets at that point.”

Anders frowned briefly at the reminder of that future, which Hawke had only given him snippets about. “Right. Well…let’s not go revealing everything yet.”

Dorian paused, head tilting. “Ah. No worries. I’m a rather adept hand at keeping them.” He pressed a finger to his mouth, smiling lopsidedly.

Solas looked curious but not suspicious. “Is it a spirit of justice inside you?”

Anders’s answer didn’t come immediately, his face turning wry. “I like to think so,” he said eventually. “But…Justice and I…we’re neither of us certain of who we are now.”

“Varric wrote a little about it in  _The Tale of the Champion_ ,” Dorian said. “You were a Warden, weren’t you? That was when you met Justice.”

Anders dipped his head in a slow nod, eyes flicking over to Hawke. “He was a spirit in the corpse of a Grey Warden,” he answered. “We’d been pulled into the Fade, and he was caught in the crossfire when we came out.” His stance was deceptively relaxed, but the knuckles of his hands were white where he had them folded over his chest. “The Warden-Commander let him join, and things went from there.”

“He was pulled  _out_  of the Fade?” Solas asked, sounding a strange mixture of horrified and fascinated. “Could he not return?”

“No,” Anders said. “He did try, it just…didn’t work. That was after he ended up in the nearest body that wasn’t already inhabited by a spirit.” He paused. “I suppose we were lucky we didn’t get mixed up and one of us ended up in the corpse…”

“Let’s count our blessings,” Hawke said, not having considered that as a possibility before. Judging from Anders’s face, he hadn’t either.

Anders’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I’m – he’s not sure that’s a blessing. The Fade would have been preferable, but he was stuck in a body that was rotting out from underneath him.”

“So you offered to let him in?” Dorian asked.

“Something like that,” Anders said blandly, smile turning polite. “But here we are.” He shrugged.

After a moment, he added, “I’m a little surprised you two are still speaking with me. Not scared of the abomination?”

“Justice isn’t that bad when you get to know him,” Dorian said offhandedly. “Besides, you’re distinctly less fire and brimstone than he was when I first met him. And he trusts you.” He tipped his head towards Hawke, an amused quirk to his lips.

“It would be hypocritical of me to shun you,” Solas said, “considering my own liaisons with spirits. Granted, I’ve never done what you have.”

“Wait”—Dorian snapped his head to Solas—“what liaisons?”

“I have friends who are spirits,” Solas said simply. “Ones I’ve met during my travels in the Fade. I cannot fault Anders for wanting to help a friend of his, even if the results were less than favorable.”

“‘Less than favorable,’” Anders muttered, nose wrinkling. “That’s  _one_  way to put it.”

“How else would you put it?”

“Disastrous,” Anders said bluntly. “Unfortunate. The worst decision either of us made. And considering I’ve made a  _lot_  of those, that’s saying something.”

“Hey now,” Hawke said mildly, eyebrows scrunching together. He couldn’t say what he wanted to, which was that if it hadn’t been for that mistake, he and Anders wouldn’t have met. Instead, he settled for saying, “It can’t have been all bad.”

“Well…” Anders considered it, eyes growing soft as he looked at Hawke. “You’re right. I met Hawke.”

Hawke ducked his head in an effort to hide the helpless and giddy smile that pulled at his lips. For once he was grateful that the doorway wasn’t very well lit when the door was closed.

“How sweet,” Dorian said after a moment, sounding rather like he was choking on laughter. “I suppose if nothing else, joining with a spirit nets you your true love?”

“Let’s not tell Cullen,” Anders said. “He just might keel over.” He paused. “On second thought, let’s.”

“You’re a menace,” Hawke said, unable to keep the fondness out of his tone.

Anders’s pleased smile suggested he heard it. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Hawke didn’t care if Solas didn’t know who he was. He’d already shown that he could keep a secret. “Yes, I am.”

And he wasn’t leaving.

* * *

Hawke hadn’t been this close to the Breach since his last failed attempt at closing it. It was just as disconcerting as before, although this time it seemed all the more menacing now that Hawke had more experience with rifts and how they felt.

It was just so – so  _large_.

The pure breadth of it was breathtaking, and not in a good way.

His hand cramped, muscles giving spasms as the mark reacted to the large rift over their heads. It was flaring green, the sound of it loud enough that Hawke could hear it even over the sounds of the Fade around him.

The Veil was too thin here, magic prickling at and under his skin. He could see shapes in his peripheral vision, but nothing was there when he turned to look.

Solas and Cullen were saying something to the mages lined up on the upper level of the ruined temple, something about focusing on Hawke.

Hawke didn’t really care so long as no one tried to set him on fire.

He kept his head craned back, eyes on the hole in the sky. It was a glimpse into the Fade, and it wasn’t a Fade he was familiar with. It looked far too much like that sick sky in the future he and Dorian had fallen into.

Taking a breath, Hawke clenched his left hand into a fist, half his attention tuned into what was happening behind him. They seemed to be almost ready for his part, which didn’t help his nerves in the least.

Pure Fade essence brushed past him, curling around his body and sending tingles through his skin. He repressed a shiver, although he couldn’t stop his skin from prickling.

Anders wasn’t here, Cullen having won the argument over whether it was a good idea to have a spirit-possessed mage right under the Breach. Varric wasn’t here either, having stayed behind to make sure Anders was fine.

When it came, Cassandra’s voice was unexpected. “Are you ready?”

“Sure,” Hawke answered, hoping his voice didn’t sound as breathy as he felt. “Um…” Not able to think of anything else to say, he instead opted to move closer to the rift that he needed to close.

He flexed his fingers, curling them in and out as he evaluated the rift. Unlike last time, it was dormant, although it still grated against his senses like a bruise.

“Focus on the Herald!” Cullen shouted in the background.

Taking in a breath, Hawke raised his left hand, eyes on the rift, and reached out, snagging hold of the rift and pulling just enough to get a feel for it.

The surge of magic from the mages rushed over him, overwhelming in its intensity. He almost pushed back against it before forcing himself to relax and just let the magic do what it was supposed to.

It sank into his skin, whispering promises and reassurance and making him entirely too warm. It was too much magic – too much  _power_  – and Hawke felt like his skin was going to burst.

Half his attention was on the writhing rift, the other half on the magic flooding his senses and making it entirely too difficult to focus on anything. But it was easy enough now to force the rift closed, whereas before it had been like wrestling a dragon. It was easy enough to find the seams where the rift didn’t mesh with the physical world and pull them together.

So by the time the rift was closed, there was more magical energy brimming in him than Hawke knew what to do with that was stifling his senses. And he could perhaps be forgiven that the backlash from closing the rift – and thus the Breach – caught him unawares.

He was thrown backwards, hitting someone who also fell over with a disgruntled sounding  _oomph_. It was probably Cassandra.

At least he was still conscious.

* * *

Some hours later, Hawke was still tingling with magic and desperately trying not to sneeze every five minutes. It hadn’t really worked, but at least he’d managed to keep the sneezes to every ten to fifteen minutes.

There had to be some way of clearing his nose of the persistent smell of  _magic_  when it just wouldn’t go away. And he couldn’t go out and cast a large spell to make it stop.

“It’s still kind of glowing,” Dorian noted, head craned back as he eyed the spot in the sky where the Breach had been before.

“Everyone’s a critic,” Hawke muttered, rubbing his nose as it tickled suspiciously. A moment later he discreetly rubbed at his tongue, although that didn’t get rid of the taste of magic.

“You got it closed,” Varric offered, looking just a bit too amused.

“Solas is still checking on that,” Hawke said.

Varric tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. “And what do  _you_  think?”

Hawke resisted answering for all of a few seconds before admitting, “I think it’s closed.”

He could still sense the lingering remnants of where it had been, but that hole to the Fade was no longer there. The Veil was thin – it would probably always be thin here – but at least it wasn’t an active threat barring massacres or a battle taking place here. That would probably rip it to pieces for good and then no amount of hand waving could fix it.

“It doesn’t feel so bad anymore,” Anders said, leaning back against the wall by Varric’s ever-burning camp fire. “It’s probably just a scar. Strong magic can leave traces like that, like in the Blackmarsh.”

“Don’t you mean  _Kitten_ marsh?” Varric asked.

“The ‘marsh’ part cancels out the ‘kitten’ part,” Anders said dryly. “I think we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Why not again?”

Dorian coughed, looking pointedly at a mixed group of dwarves, elves, and humans carrying large casks. “It seems we’re preparing for a party.”

Varric shifted gears, head turning to see what Dorian had. “Considering all the weird shit everyone’s gone through, it’s not a bad idea. Besides, the Breach’s closed. What’s not to celebrate?” He paused, turning to eye Hawke. “Aside from Corypheus still being out there.”

Hawke didn’t say anything beyond closing his eyes and bringing a hand up to his mouth to muffle an upcoming sneeze that never actually came out. Resigned, he dropped the hand and opened his eyes to see Anders staring speculatively at him.

“You know you look…” Anders tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing.

“Handsome?” Hawke suggested.

“I was going to say ‘bright,’” Anders said, slightly apologetically. “It’s…rather distracting.”

“Well, that’s—” The sneeze from earlier came back with a vengeance, Hawke barely having time to cover his nose. Once it cleared, he continued, “Try having a horde of mages cast at you and then come away from it clean.” He grimaced. “I have magic up my  _nose_.”

“Really?” Dorian sounded fascinated. “How does that feel?”

“Like I need to sneeze every five minutes?” Hawke didn’t say that he could usually deal with it. It was just that this wasn’t  _his_  magic. And then there was how he still felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin with the excess magic brimming through him.

He hadn’t even used half of it on the Breach.

The amount of mages accompanying him had perhaps been overkill.

“Maybe it’ll clear up by the time the party starts?” Varric sounded hopeful. “Wouldn’t be any fun if you end up with a pint of ale up your nose because you had to sneeze magic.”

“I don’t think I will,” Hawke said slowly, rubbing briefly at his nose.

Varric squinted at him. “You’re  _not_  going to drink?”

“It might be nothing.” Hawke made a face. “But…just in case.”

Varric eyed him doubtfully, as did Anders. The two of them were keenly aware of what it meant when Hawke was on edge.

“I guess this means I’m staying out of it, too,” Varric said, sighing ruefully. He stared mournfully after another group of people carrying a few more casks down.

“Why?” Dorian looked between them, confused. “Is there something I’m missing?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Hawke said at the same time Anders said, “Things usually go tits up when he gets like this.”

Hawke turned to Anders. “Says who?”

Anders looked down at Varric. “Varric?”

“I’ve got a list of things jotted down,” Varric said, patting down his pockets. “D’you really want me to read them off? Might take a while, starting with the ‘Varric, are you  _sure_  this Deep Roads thing is going to pan out?’, ending with ‘I’m going to go and punch that—’”

 “No, no, no—” Hawke kept repeating the word, putting his hands up. “Let’s not.” Then, blinking, he said, “Why did you even write that down?” And then, “That’s not what’s happening here—”

“It is,” Varric interrupted cheerfully. “It’s just more interesting to mention everything you’ve said  _before_  you go on about how it’s probably not going to be a problem, only for it to be a problem. Also, I write it down because I’m the guy writing your biography.” He shrugged, then held up a book. “Sure you don’t want me to read it?”

“I’m fine,” Hawke said hastily. “I don’t need to read more of what you think a hero should be.”

“I took the bit about the food out,” Varric said, flipping through the pages.

“That’s…really not the point, but thank you.” Hawke brought his arm up to muffle another sneeze. This time there were sparks of light accompanying it.

“You sure you’re fine?” Anders asked worriedly. He came closer to crouch down by Hawke.

“It’s nothing you can heal. If I could just do something really large that would help, but that’s also not an option.”

“Closing the Breach wasn’t large?” Dorian seemed bemused.

“The number of mages was overkill.” Hawke paused, then brought both hands up to cover another, larger sneeze.

Unfortunately, it still didn’t clear the blasted taste of magic out of his mouth.

The party was well underway by the time Cassandra sought Hawke out. They’d been joined by Blackwall at that point, although the Warden was trying not to be obvious about not talking to Anders and was instead talking with Hawke about maybe finding some of the Grey Warden caches in the surrounding areas.

Hawke was just having trouble believing the Wardens to have stashed anything in the mountains here before realizing that maybe Blackwall meant elsewhere in Thedas and not in the vicinity of Haven. That would make marginally more sense.

“Enjoying the party?” Cassandra asked during a lull in their conversation. She seemed slightly surprised to see that save for Blackwall, none of them had any tankards of ale in their hands. After reading through Varric’s book, Dorian had eventually decided not to drink, shooting Hawke a lot of  _looks_  in the meantime.

“It’s nice,” Hawke said, giving her a lopsided smile. “Good to see that they’re enjoying something other than the cold weather here.”

“As well as they should,” Cassandra said. “Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm. You successfully closed the Breach.”

“I’d get up and throw a party but we’re already doing one. Maybe next time.”

“There better not be a next time,” Cassandra said, although her lips twitched.

“Another occasion, then?” Hawke suggested.

“There will be those,” Cassandra agreed. “Josephine will certainly keep her eyes open for opportunities.” She pulled a face.

“Why, Seeker…” Varric’s tone was full of mock surprise. “Are you telling us you  _don’t_  like parties?”

“I said no such—” The sound of a bell ringing – one Hawke hadn’t heard before – had Cassandra breaking off, turning on her heel to stare towards the direction of Haven’s gates.

Hawke could hear Cullen shouting in the distance. “Forces approaching! To arms!”

In the distance, Hawke could see trails of light in the mountains, flickering and marching steadily downwards.

He moved to stand, only to jerk backwards when Cole suddenly appeared by him in a crouching position. It alarmed him when he realized that he couldn’t  _sense_  Cole like before – there was too much magic blocking his senses.

“It’s him,” Cole said, half-turning his head to meet Hawke’s eyes. “The Elder One. You took his mages, you took his templars, and he knows who you are. He’s so angry. He wants you to  _hurt_.”

Cassandra barely glanced at Cole. “We need to get to the gates!” She started making her way through the panicked crowd.

“Well,” Varric said weakly, “that’s one way to end a party.”

“Definitely not a problem, hm?” Dorian brushed the snow off his backside, peering into the darkness.

“Maybe a problem.” Hawke stood, pulling Anders to his feet as he did. He brought a hand up to stifle an unwanted sneeze, but the magic going down the other way didn’t help beyond starting a small coughing fit. When it cleared, he managed, “Anders—”

“I’m not going anywhere now,” Anders said, jaw set. “Justice has a handle on it.”

“Like last time?”

“We have it,” Anders insisted, voice hard. “I’m not leaving you.”

There was no arguing with him like this, and Hawke didn’t have the time. He dropped his eyes to Varric, pleading silently.

Varric didn’t hesitate before dipping his chin in acknowledgement, face grim.

“Okay,” Hawke said, exhaling. At least his daggers were still with him. “We’ve got this.”

“They say you do,” Cole said, standing by Hawke’s shoulder. “They get their courage from you.”

Hawke looked back at him, blinking. That…wasn’t actually very encouraging?

A loud cry of “Herald!” had his attention snapping to the gates, and he was off before he could rethink it.

Corypheus was here, and they had a village to defend.

* * *

_“It occurs to me,” Anders said as they were slowly making their way through the dark underbelly of Kirkwall with a Qunari in tow, “that you may be just the slightest bit mad.”_

_“It just now comes to you?” Carver sounded disbelieving. “What was it that finally tipped his hand?”_

_“Only slightly?” He sighed, shaking his head. “That’s too bad. I was going for all the way.”_

_“Let’s not,” Varric said. “I don’t think Bartrand could handle that.”_

_Anders spoke again. “Helping a Chantry sister out? What if it’s a trap?”_

_“It probably is,” he said, glancing up at the ever silent Ketojan. Aside from some mumbles, there hadn’t been a peep out of him. “But I’m not helping her. I’m helping him.”_

_“A fine distinction there, brother,” Carver said. “Where’s the difference?”_

_“If I just wanted to snub the Chantry, I could’ve said no. But I can’t just leave him, can I?”_

_“You could,” Carver said unhelpfully. “It’d be the smart thing to do.”_

_He shot Carver a look. “You’re not helping.”_

_There was a very visible eye roll but Carver didn’t say anything else._

_“Well,” Anders said after a moment, “a mage is a mage.”_

_Ketojan didn’t say a thing, even when they ran into a group of thieves a few minutes later that was quickly taken care of._

_Carver wasn’t so silent. “So you **do**  think it’s a trap.”_

_“When is a trap not a trap?” His lighthearted statement clearly didn’t pacify Carver, so he added, “It’ll be fine.”_

_“It—” Carver made an outraged noise before breaking off into angry mutters. Then, “How many poultices do you have, healer?”_

_Anders’s answer was bemused. “Enough? I mean, they’re potions, not poultices, but I’ve got a few of those—”_

_“I’ve got some, too,” Carver said. “How about lyrium?”_

_“…Enough?”_

_He turned to pin Carver with a look, although the only thing he got in return was an unimpressed stare. “What are you doing?”_

_“Making sure things don’t go even more tits up than they’re about to,” Carver answered flatly. “Sure, you’ll be fine. The rest of us mortals won’t be.”_

_And with that lovely statement, Carver turned back to badgering Anders about his potions and also checking on Varric’s quiver._

_As it turned out, it had been a trap. As it also turned out, they were all fine in the end except for Ketojan._

_But telling Carver that only merited a lot of disgusted groaning and mutters about “a freaking **darkspawn**  army” and “it  **wasn’t**  fine!”_

_Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what the problem was. Only that Anders now told him – quite fondly – that he was indeed only slightly mad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justice/Anders got outed! Hawke not yet. Somehow?? How much longer can he keep it up?
> 
> I have FEELINGS about everyone's relationships, especially how Varric interacts with the DA2 crew. So many feelings. Also Carver is...so much fun to write? It's not the last we'll see of him!
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought!


	11. Haven VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, this is a big one! Super big! And I'm...not sorry to say it ends on another cliffhanger? :P But there's lots in here! TONS!
> 
> And we get a different POV for the first time! (And only, right now...) Can you guess whose it is?
> 
> Thanks so much for all the feedback! :D I'm thrilled you guys are enjoying it so far! I hope you like this one!

_Really, he didn’t have anything against the Qunari. Not at first, anyway. He tried not to judge an entire race of people without knowing anything about them._

_Besides, a Qunari had helped the Hero of Ferelden. They couldn’t be that bad, could they?_

_He didn’t like how they treated their mages. He knew only the bare bones after helping Ketojan, but it was enough that he knew nothing could excuse what they did. Fear or not, no living being deserved to be chained up like that simply because they possessed magic._

_Then there was their Arishok. He had some anger issues, but anyone would be rather upset after being trapped in a city like Kirkwall for several years. And “trapped” was the right word, since he apparently couldn’t leave without retrieving what had been stolen from them._

_But he didn’t have anything against the Qunari, not initially. He’d had some negotiations with them because that was his luck, but they’d turned out all right. Even if the Viscount thought that meant he was actually qualified to talk with the Qunari on a regular basis._

_He wasn’t, but he’d give the man his delusions since he didn’t trust anyone else not to epically fuck it up. Not that he wouldn’t fuck it up, but at least then he could say he’d tried and only blame himself._

_He had tried._

_He didn’t want war. He didn’t want the Qunari to unleash their wrath on Kirkwall, which was mostly defenseless save for Aveline’s guard and the templars._

_He wanted the Qunari to leave. The rising tensions in every corner of the city didn’t feel good, emotions bouncing through the thin Veil and back until he was positively queasy every time he so much as focused on the Fade._

_The esteemed Mother Petrice didn’t help matters. Neither did Grand Cleric Elthina._

_What use was the Chantry here if they did nothing about the chaos at their doorstep?_

_It fell to him and his friends to do something – **anything**  – about it. Although at this point it felt like he was grasping at straws, trying desperately to salvage something that was unweaving faster than he could sew it back together._

_The latest event with the Viscount’s son was just the last straw, and he didn’t know if he could fix it now. Not that he’d had a chance before anyway._

_Not with Isabela gone with the book the Qunari were after._

_“Hawke…” Aveline sounded uncertain as they approached the Qunari compound._

_“It’s fine,” he said, not looking at her._

_Aveline was silent for a moment. Then, “You really think so, don’t you?”_

_He was about to admit that no, he didn’t really think it was fine, that he thought things would go straight into the fire, but then Aveline said, “It’s good to have you at my side, Hawke. I know it’ll be fine with you.”_

_The words burned his ears, and for a moment he thought he couldn’t breathe._

_How could she say that with everything that had happened? With those he had failed?_

_Nothing was going to be fine but it wouldn’t help if he **said that**._

_“We’ll handle it,” was all he said in the end. “We always do.”_

_And when the Arishok shot down Aveline’s guards and openly declared war on Kirkwall, he hoped that he was right. That they could handle it, and that this wouldn’t be the start of an invasion._

* * *

Even in the chaos surrounding them, the sounds of screaming and panicking and soldiers shouting, Varric couldn’t help but marvel at how calm Hawke remained. It had always been a thing of beauty from the moment he’d met the human, but it still struck him every time he saw Hawke face down something no other sane person would have.

Hawke was cool, calm, and collected, even if the world around him was burning down.

Granted, Curly was keeping his head about him, too, but there was a distinct air of panic about him that Hawke didn’t have.

“Do you have a plan?” Hawke asked, head turned in a direction not quite facing the oncoming army.

Varric followed his gaze, narrowing his eyes when he caught sight of something on a mountain that wouldn’t have caught his attention otherwise.

“Haven is no fortress,” Curly said flatly. “If we’re to get out of this, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force with everything you can.” His smile was ruthless. “We’ve got trebuchets for a reason.” He pulled his sword, turning on his heel and calling, “Mages! You – you have sanction to engage them!”

Curly marched in front of a row of soldiers. “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

As far as speeches went, Varric had heard better.

“I’ve always wanted to use one,” Hawke said, taking a step back and letting the soldiers run ahead. He turned towards the Iron Bull. “How many Chargers do you have?”

“Forty-five.” The Iron Bull dipped his head. “You’ve got a plan?”

“Most of the mages can’t fight,” Hawke said. “Get them to safety and blockade whatever tries to attack.”

“Don’t you mean who?” Sparkler asked.

Hawke whirled on his heel, a dagger flying over Varric’s head within the next second. A split-second later there was a gurgle and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

Varric hastily turned, only to wish that he hadn’t bothered when he saw what looked like a templar with red crystals bursting out of their helmet.

“No,” Hawke said grimly, “I mean  _what_.” He headed over to the body, pulling out the dagger that had found its home in the templar’s head, wiping it off carelessly in the snow. Then, standing, he paused for a moment, staring out over the lake.

His head tilted, almost like he was looking up at the sealed Breach before it dropped and he turned back to them. “Iron Bull?”

The Iron Bull didn’t hesitate, nodding. “I’ve got it, boss. The mages will be safe.”

“The rest of us are coming with you,” Seeker told Hawke, her tone forbidding argument.

“You’ll have no argument from me,” Hawke said, heading towards the trebuchets. “We’ve got a few avalanches to let loose.”

Varric took a moment to reassure himself with the weight of Bianca’s presence before following after Hawke. Blondie was at his heels, which he still wasn’t entirely sure about but he’d promised Hawke.

Even if he wasn’t sure he could take down a juiced up mage who was possessed by Corypheus  _and_  a spirit of justice. There were some things even a dwarf couldn’t take care of.

* * *

_“Dragon!”_

_“Dra – shit!”_

_“Get back to Haven! Go!”_

No one had expected the dragon.

Well, maybe the weird spirit kid had, but Varric didn’t count him. Besides, it didn’t count if the warning he’d given had been ten seconds and too little time to vacate the trebuchet before the dragon set it on fire.

“I think I remember you saying at one point he better not pull a dragon out of his ass,” Blondie said to him, leaning heavily against a pillar and wiping a hand over his face. “Or did I imagine that?” He paused, eyes still covered by a hand. “My head was killing me then…”

“Uh…” Varric blinked, thinking back to that chaotic fight that had been mostly Hawke giving Corypheus a beat-down while everyone else scrambled to avoid being electrocuted, burnt alive, or turned into shish kebab by icicles.

He was relatively sure Hawke would tell him that he’d only done a third of the work, but he was  _also_  relatively sure that he knew who it was who’d frightened the shit out of Corypheus enough that he  _had_  gone and powered himself up on those weird-ass statues.

“I think,” Varric said belatedly, remembering Blondie had asked him a question. “I don’t quite recall. I was too busy trying not to die.”

Blondie muttered something that may have been “You and me both.”

Varric looked up from his corner, catching sight of Hawke talking with Curly and Seeker, a frown on his face. There was blood smeared over his right cheek, some splattered over his nose in a manner reminiscent of the red mark Varric had given him in his book (also inspired by random splatter on his face during the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall), and there was a tear in his sleeve that Varric hadn’t noticed outside.

“He’s not injured, is he?” Varric asked, nudging Blondie’s leg to nod towards Hawke.

“No,” Blondie said wearily, rummaging in his robes to pull out a lyrium bottle. “None of you are. But there are others…” He sighed, eyed the bottle, then tucked it away.

The spirit kid slid out of the shadows, nearly giving Varric a heart attack. He was looking at Blondie and not the poor dwarf he’d nearly shown to death’s door for the second time that night. “Chancellor Roderick is hurt,” he said. “He tried to stop a templar. The blade went deep.” His eyes were sharp. “He’s going to die. Unless…you want to help, don’t you? You heal – you’re the healer.” His voice changed to an eerie lit. “If the lantern’s lit, the healer’s inside.”

“Right, yes.” Blondie’s voice was odd, and when Varric looked, there was a strange flash in his eyes. He shifted away before he could think the better of it. Blondie didn’t seem to notice, attention on the kid. “Show me to him.”

Nodding, the kid slinked backwards into the shadows, Blondie following.

Varric stared after them for a long moment before sighing and rubbing a hand over his face. He left the other lying on Bianca, thumbing her smooth wood soothingly.

The kid was somehow now at Hawke’s side, having apparently shown Blondie to the esteemed chancellor. He was talking as well, and whatever he was saying had Curly grimacing and Hawke’s shoulders slumping. Even Seeker looked dismayed, one hand coming up to tug at her hair.

Varric bit his lip, looking back down at his knees.

He knew this didn’t look good.

There was an army at their doorstep and a dragon flying over their heads. They hadn’t faced worst odds than this before. Even Meredith had been a cakewalk compared to what was beating down their door right now.

And the Chantry was so full of panicked people that Varric could scarcely think. At least most were in the dungeons, but there were still too many up here.

Hero came by, sliding down the wall to sit next to Varric. “Your friend’s back there, healing Chancellor Roderick,” he said, voice as gruff as always. “The chancellor’s saying something about a back tunnel that could get us out of here.”

“That would be something,” Varric said, thumping his head back against the wall.

Ruffles came out of the area that Blondie had disappeared to, joining the conversation with Hawke and the others. It was only a few sentences, but Curly immediately looked brighter.

“It looks like we might have a way out,” Hero noted, sounding relieved.

“Yeah.” Varric narrowed his eyes as Curly pulled Hawke aside, away from the other people wringing their hands and crying.

It couldn’t be so easy, could it?

“I’ll check on the others,” Hero said when Varric didn’t say anything else.

“Yeah, sure,” Varric said absentmindedly, more interested in trying to figure out what the hell Curly was telling Hawke.

It couldn’t be good. Hawke was wearing that expression that suggested he was going to go and kill something. He nodded once, saying something Varric couldn’t read from his lips, smiling wryly. Curly seemed to protest, and Hawke reached out to clasp Curly by the shoulders, staring him intently in the face and saying something else.

Curly jolted briefly, Hawke smirked again, and then they broke apart. When Curly went off to join Seeker and Ruffles, he looked slightly dazed and disbelieving, and a lot like he had just signed someone’s death sentence.

Someone’s – oh, Andraste’s flaming  _tits_.

Hawke was coming over to Varric, not looking for Blondie or anyone else. It was that more than anything that told Varric shit was going to fly.

He didn’t move to crouch by Varric, giving him a pained smile. “I need to go back out.”

Varric pushed against the wall to stand, staring up at him in disbelief. “Are you mad? That’s a suicide mission!”

Thankfully Hawke didn’t try and say it would be fine, dipping his head. “Maybe. But as it stands, Haven is overrun, and we need time to evacuate. There’s a tunnel out of here, but it won’t do any of us good if they come after us. There are still some trebuchets out there. One last avalanche should do the trick.”

“Who are you taking with you?” Because Hawke had to be taking someone.

“I’m not.”

“Andraste’s ass – what do you mean you’re  _not_?”

“I can handle it.” Hawke’s smile was weak. “You know I can.” He covered his mouth, making a noise like he was stifling a sneeze. A second later he coughed, and Varric caught sight of white sparkly lights that drifted off. “I’ve still got to burn this off.”

“Then burn it off with someone else out there,” Varric said desperately. “You don’t have to do this alone—”

“I’m not having anyone else out there possibly die.” Hawke’s mouth was set in a thin line. “If I have to watch myself to make sure I don’t accidentally hurt someone else, that will happen.” He smiled again, this time more akin to his usual smirks. “It’ll be fine, Varric. Don’t you trust me?”

“You can’t outrun an  _avalanche_ , Hawke,” Varric whispered, free hand curling to a fist at his side.

“Hm.” Hawke looked up, eyes on the doors. “Maybe I can’t, but the Breach’s sealed. And I can do this – buy everyone enough time to get out. You don’t need me for Corypheus.”

“You’re the one who beat him  _last time_ —”

“You know I had help for that,” Hawke said. “I wasn’t alone. You’ll be fine.” His eyes flickered to the back of the Chantry. “Varric…”

“Damn it,” Varric hissed, “ _no_.”

“You promised,” Hawke said quietly, eyes dark.

“What do you think he’ll do once he finds out I just let you walk out there alone?”

“I know you can handle him,” Hawke said, in a way that wasn’t at all reassuring because  _what the hell was Varric supposed to do_? He took a breath, letting it out slowly. “He’ll understand.”

“No, he won’t!”

“Maybe not now,” Hawke conceded. “But he will. I know what Corypheus does to him; I can’t let it happen again.”

“You’re an  _idiot_ ,” Varric said fiercely, heart pounding in his chest. “You’re a bloody idiot and I can’t believe you’re just going to go out there by  _yourself_  and take on a damn army. Fucking—” He hit the wall, regretting it instantly when his knuckles protested.

Hawke grabbed hold of his hand, a rush of warmth soothing the bones, which was just about the only healing spell Varric knew Hawke could do. “You’re right,” he admitted softly. “I’m an idiot, but I’m going to do this. And I need to know that you’ll keep your word.”

“Of course I’m going to keep my word.” Varric glared up at him, rolling his wrist as he took his hand back. His anger faded slightly, receding to be replaced by fear. He looked up at Hawke pleadingly, already knowing his words would do no good. “It’ll be fine,” he said eventually, resigned.

Hawke closed his eyes, looking so painfully relieved that Varric felt guilty about having made him worry about this. “Thank you,” he breathed.

“Might not do any good,” Varric said after a moment, heart heavy and hurting, “but good luck.”

“No,” Hawke said, half-smiling. “I’ll need it.”

Nodding once at Varric, he took a step back and turned, heading to the doors. He was met by Sparkler before he got there, their heads coming together briefly before a pouch was shoved into his hands. Hawke took it, reaching down to take one of his own and give it to Sparkler.

And then, without another look back, Hawke pushed open the doors and stepped outside, his broad back the last thing Varric saw of him before the doors swung closed.

Sparkler stared after him for several moments before slowly turning and coming over to Varric, backside leaning against the wall while his front leaned forwards. “Varric…”

Varric could scarcely spare a thought for him, most of his attention on an oblivious Blondie and what the hell he was going to tell him. “Yeah?”

“How much of your book is accurate?” Sparkler asked quietly, eyes pinched at the corners. “I mean – I’ve seen some of his work, but it wasn’t exactly under the best circumstances.”

Varric considered the question, reaching up to hitch Bianca to his back. That book had been the product of years of writing, carefully picking out what to put in and what to keep out, editing it until it was absolute perfection.

He was a liar, but every lie had a grain of truth.

“He’s better,” Varric said eventually, looking up to meet Sparkler’s eyes. “And he’s going to come back.”

If this had been a story, this would have been the point where Varric would have ended the scene and moved on to the next one. Because drama.

But it wasn’t a story, and Varric was all too aware and all too  _tired_  to do much more than be vaguely alarmed at the wreck that was barreling towards them at top speed.

Or walking, as the case may be.

Blondie had emerged from the depths of where they’d stashed the infirmary, uncaring of the fact that most people were now beginning to move in the direction he’d come from.

“We’re moving,” Blondie said, coming close to Varric. “Chancellor Roderick remembered a back route out of the Chantry.” He paused, lips twisting into a wry smile. “Odds that it was the same route the Hero of Ferelden took?”

“Sucker bet,” Varric said, mouth dry. “You’ve got inside information, Blondie.”

“You keep cleaning me out with Wicked Grace,” Blondie said shamelessly. “I need to make it up somewhere.”

“Get a decent poker face and we’ll talk.” Blondie hadn’t noticed Hawke wasn’t in the building. Or maybe he thought Hawke had moved ahead?

Blondie pulled a face, rubbing his hands together. There were smears of red on the skin, as if he’d had them dipped in blood not long ago, and Varric averted his eyes before Blondie could notice.

Varric looked up to Blondie, only to see that the other was scanning the Chantry, eyes flickering from corner to corner. All amusement had vanished and he was beginning to frown.

“Where’s H-Trevelyan?” Blondie asked, eyes dropping to meet Varric’s.

Varric managed a smile that he hoped wasn’t as stiff as it felt. “Had to check on something, but he said he’d be back. He volunteered when Curly brought it up.”

“I didn’t see him,” Blondie said slowly. But there was no hint of anger, not even a sign of the spirit inside him peeking through.

“Think you would’ve noticed him in all this?” Varric gestured about him, although the effect was rather lost considering that practically half the people had vamoosed to the dungeons.

“Hm.” Blondie sounded slightly skeptical but didn’t seem to suspect anything amiss. “Then what are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” Varric answered, this time honestly. “C’mon, Blondie. Don’t want to keep him waiting, do we?”

Then, as if everything was perfectly fine, Varric started off in the direction of the dungeons. It was where most of the people had crammed themselves into, but somehow even more people had managed to cram themselves in so he guessed the entrance to the tunnel was there. Otherwise nothing made sense except if half of the people turned into ghosts.

That…was not entirely implausible considering all the other weird shit he’d seen.

Glancing backwards over his shoulder, Varric was relieved to see that Blondie was following him and that Sparkler wasn’t saying a thing.

Good, because Varric still didn’t have a clue about how he was supposed to go subduing a pissed off mage possessed by an angry spirit of justice. Or demon of vengeance. He wasn’t entirely sure which it was and he definitely wasn’t wearing rose-colored glasses like Hawke.

Somehow, the three of them managed to move smoothly and relatively swiftly through the mass of people. It may have had something to do with people recognizing them as companions of the Herald. Or maybe it had everything to do with the recent revelation of Blondie being the mage who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall, because Varric could see people side-eyeing Blondie warily.

Eventually they ended up more towards the front, and Varric could see Curly’s weird fur mantle walking by Nightingale’s and Ruffles’s familiar forms. Seeker wasn’t far away, and the rest of the group Hawke had managed to collect was also present.

Including the weird kid with the hat that was definitely too large for his head.

Naturally, Hawke was nowhere in sight, having left the Chantry via the front doors and not through a tunnel.

And Blondie noticed, stopping short and sending several rocks skittering across the ground. He turned, scanning the crowd behind them. When he didn’t find who he was looking for, he turned back around and looked again.

There weren’t any hints of glowing, so Varric would count this as a rather tentative victory.

Then Blondie looked down at him, brow furrowed and voice far too calm as he asked, “Where is he?”

“I said,” Varric said, swallowing thickly, “there was something he needed to do.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Something in Blondie’s voice must have alerted the others that something was wrong, because they stopped moving to glance over their shoulders.

“Where is he, Varric?” Blondie repeated. There was a flicker of light this time, lines cracking across his face before they disappeared.

Shit.

Varric responded slowly, aware he was treading on  _very_  thin ground here. “He had to take care of something, so he went back.” Nice and ambiguous, absolutely nothing in there about creating avalanches and getting buried alive.

“ **Back**?” Blondie echoed, a deeper undertone to his voice than what usually existed. Varric had only heard it select times before, and it never failed to send a terrified shiver down his spine. “He – are you telling me  _he’s still in Haven_?”

Curly faced Blondie, one hand on his sword, entire body tense. “He’s buying us time,” he said, which even an idiot could have told him was  _completely the wrong thing to say_.

“He’s out there alone?” Flickers of light cracked open Blondie’s skin, and his eyes flared. Blondie moved as if to turn around and go back to the Chantry, and  _hell no_ —

“What the hell are you doing?” Varric grabbed hold of Blondie’s arm, only to regret it when he realized that it was like trying to move a really heavy rock. “Are you mad? You can’t go back!”

“ **Can’t I**?” Blondie snarled, wrenching his arm out of Varric’s grip, and there was  _definitely_  more than a hint of Justice in that voice now, the tone shaking Varric’s bones.

But Andraste’s ass, he’d  _promised Hawke_  and he wasn’t going to fail his friend. “You  _know_  what Corypheus does to you! You think Hawke would want you to put yourself in the middle of that?”

When Blondie glanced back at him his face was thankfully not glowing. “Hawke isn’t  _here_ , is he?” he shot back vehemently. “Because where  _is_  he, Varric?” His skin cracked open briefly before the light faded with a grimace and a head shake.

“Trying to keep you safe!” Varric snapped. “And he can’t do that if you just go running off!”

“Keep yourself contained!” Curly ordered, pulling his sword with a metallic  _snick_.

“ **Are you _threatening_  me, templar**?” Blondie’s face turned inhuman, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Don’t smite him!” Varric had seen exactly what happened when a templar tried to smite a pissed off Blondie and it never ended well, especially when it was  _successful_.

“Are you expecting me to just let him attack us?” Curly asked in disbelief.

“I’m asking you to trust me and let me talk to him,” Varric said sharply. “Do  _not_  piss him off.”

“He’s already pissed off,” Sparkler whispered, having moved as far to the side of the tunnel as he could.

“ **He will not face this threat alone** ,” the spirit/demon in Blondie said, withdrawing from Varric.

“Hawke trusts you to keep Anders safe!” Varric shouted, trying one more time to keep Blondie here and not haring off. “Is this keeping him safe? From  _Corypheus_? You know exactly what he did to you last time! He turned you against us! Is that what you want to happen here?”

Blondie took another step back, although this time he was shaking his head, the light of the spirit fading. He looked strained, conflicting emotions of terror, grief, and anger warring on his face. “I know you hate me, Varric,” he said, “but he’s your  _friend_. Why the hell didn’t you stop him from going?”

“As if I could ever stop him from doing anything!” Varric threw his hands up, then pointed a finger at Blondie. “And I  _tried_ , all right? I did! But he gets an idea in his head and off he goes! But you know what else? He comes back. And if he comes back and sees that I let you go back to face  _Corypheus_ —” He broke off, shaking his head curtly. “And why the hell does everyone think I hate you?”

Blondie’s face twisted, eyes flashing. “He’s facing  _Corypheus_  alone! And you’re just  _fine_  with that?!” Light cracked over his face, the spirit coming to the forefront once more.

Varric opened his mouth to snap that of  _course_  he wasn’t “just fine” with that. He was the furthest  _thing_  from fine with it, but a soft voice spoke before he could. “He’s alive.”

Blondie stilled, glowing eyes fixing on someone behind Varric. He seemed confused.

Also confused, Varric turned his head to see the spirit kid walk forward and past him, approaching Blondie without a care in the world. He stopped besides him, staring back the way they came from, through the people who had retreated some at the sight of Blondie losing it.

“He’s scared,” the kid said. “He’s so angry but  _scared_.”

Blondie’s eyes and face cleared, but there were still occasional cracks of light bursting through his skin. “You can hear him?”

“I can’t,” the kid answered. “He’s too bright, like looking into the sun. But the Elder One. I can hear  _him_. And he’s scared.” His head ducked slightly, voice shifting a bit as he continued speaking. “Alone this time – his friends aren’t here – but why isn’t he scared? Smiling – just like when he faced me the first time –  _he should be scared_. He’s alone now  _why is he smiling_.” The kid spoke rapidly, and he turned towards Blondie. His eyes were wide. “The dragon is blinded.”

“He blinded the dragon?” The Iron Bull sounded surprised and just a bit envious. “Niiice.”

“You’re hurting,” the kid said to Blondie, sounding painfully young and so much like a – well – kid. “Both of you – tangled up and twisted and you don’t know which is you and which is him and are you both? But you love him, have to keep him safe –  _Hawke_.” He paused, head tilting up. “Don’t hawks fly?” He sounded confused.

Varric almost laughed at the question, unexpected as it was.

But the kid had managed to calm Blondie down enough that Varric thought he could talk him out of rushing back to Haven. “Blondie…let’s keep moving, yeah? He’s buying us time. We need to make sure we use it.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Seeker said. “Let us go.”

Curly shot Blondie a dark look but sheathed his sword and continued heading down the tunnel. The others started moving as well, although Blondie didn’t move immediately.

He was shuddering, pressing a hand to his forehead. The other was clenched into a fist at his side.

“C’mon, Blondie.” Varric kept his voice gentle, taking hold of his wrist to get him moving.

This time it was like actually moving a person, Blondie following his lead.

There were no more outbursts as they traversed through the dark and winding tunnel, their path lit by the torches Inquisition soldiers had brought with them. The lights, along with the whispers and murmurs of the people behind them, gave the entire scene an eerie atmosphere.

It was a little like a funeral march, although Varric hadn’t ever been present at one like this. But the atmosphere fit, all moody and dark and subdued.

They were also underground.

Yet, gradually, the ground started sloping upwards more steeply. Varric hadn’t even noticed that they’d slowly been meandering upwards until he was walking at a steep incline eye-to-eye with Blondie’s ass.

Which was too much information and Varric didn’t usually try to get so close to another’s private parts, even if they were sort-of friends.

Eventually the atmosphere of the tunnel lightened, and Varric could taste fresh air and not the stale oxygen of the underground. It was also getting nippy.

He rounded a corner and stepped outside, stopping short just after Blondie and wishing immediately that he was back in the tunnel because  _holy shit_.

His hairs were on edge with the static electricity in the air, and he didn’t really want to touch Bianca for fear of getting a static shock from her metal bits. Then there was the  _howling_.

“Andraste save us,” Ruffles’s accented voice breathed. “Is this the power of an ancient magister?”

Varric couldn’t quite see what Ruffles and the others were, largely due to being a  _dwarf_  and so much shorter than everyone else. Maybe if the really large Qunari would heft him up on his shoulders – no. He wasn’t going to stoop that low.

Impatient, Varric shoved his way to the front so he could see and promptly stopped dead, breath sticking in his throat. He could feel Blondie coming up next to him, but he didn’t look up to see his reaction to the sight laid out below them.

They were up in the mountains behind Haven, sheltered in a pass that sloped downwards out of sight of the village. But they had an unobstructed view of the village and the lake past it, and it was easy enough to make out the large details like the gigantic dragon prowling at one corner.

Along with the self-sustaining electrical storm and blizzard currently having a party in the middle of Haven.

A bolt of electricity burst from the magical storm, streaking up towards the sky before breaking apart into smaller spikes. A few more followed, each one seeming to get closer and closer to touching the heavens.

Curly jolted into action, calling an archer to attention. “Send the signal,” he ordered, eyes still on the terrifyingly beautiful magical storm below them.

There was some fumbling, but the archer had the tip of his arrow lit on fire before he aimed and shot it straight up, a flaming beacon to anyone watching from below.

And Varric would shave his chest hair if Hawke wasn’t watching.

“Come on, come on,” Blondie pleaded under his breath. “Just run for it.”

Just…?

Oh shit.

Varric hadn’t exactly told Blondie what Hawke was doing down there, had he? Just that he was trying to buy them time. Not that Hawke was going to  _set off a fucking avalanche_.

Only no stone was flying through the air courtesy of a trebuchet. Varric couldn’t even make out the familiar shapes of the machines either despite his keen eyesight.

Interminable seconds later, a fireball burst into sight, soaring through the air and going higher and higher. Impossibly, it also seemed to be growing larger as it ate up the distance to its target.

“What is he doing?” Sparkler sounded horrified. “That’s – that’s too far! It’ll never make it!”

“What  _is_  he doing?” A thread of panic wound through Blondie’s words. Less so about the feat Hawke was currently pulling off than  _why_  he was doing it.

The mountain the fireball was heading towards really was too far for any spell to feasibly reach. But the spell didn’t flicker or die out. The fireball just kept flying, seeming to grow in size despite the fact that it should be impossible for it to do that.

When it hit the mountain, it went out in a tremendous cloud of steam. For an instant there was no movement, and Varric almost feared it had been too little.

Then, gradually, a shelf collapsed. A ripple formed on the surface of the mountain, moving down at an escalating speed and directly towards Haven.

Blondie was too still by Varric, but he didn’t look up, attention focused on the avalanche rushing towards Haven and  _Hawke_. It was horrific even its beauty, but Varric couldn’t help but hope that Hawke would somehow pull off the impossible and get out of there.

Maybe it would get Corypheus, too—

With a roar that was audible even where they stood on the mountain, the dragon took off, gigantic wings lifting its enormous body in the air. There was a figure clasped in one of its talons, and it veered off at an angle, stuttering oddly for a beast that was usually so graceful.

“It can’t see,” the kid murmured. “It’s blind. Raging heat, vicious satisfaction, he won’t escape from  _that_.”

Like a tidal wave, the mound of snow swept over Haven, burying it under white. It swept through the still broiling magical storm, which continued to crackle and howl merrily even though it should have died out by now.

What the fuck had Corypheus done? He hadn’t had this much juice when they’d fought him last time.

The visceral scream that erupted from besides Varric startled him, sending him bumping into the closest person, which was Chuckles. “ _Hawke_!”

“Shit—” Varric twisted towards Blondie, reaching for Bianca even though he didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to. Hit Blondie over the head?

Blondie was lighting up like a firecracker, cracks of light bursting through his skin and piercing through his clothes. One hand was going to one of the staffs he was carrying,  _which was not a good idea no_ —

“Blondie, snap out of it!” Varric hefted Bianca in his hands, no arrow notched because he was not going to kill Blondie. That hadn’t been the promise.

There was no verbal response from Blondie, just a furious and grief-stricken cry that sent shivers skittering through Varric.

“Justice,” Chuckles snapped, “calm yourself!” A spell flew out from his staff, twisting around Blondie.

There was a response this time, furious and reverberating through Varric’s bones. “ ** _Calm_**?  **He’s _dead_**!”

A smite hit Blondie before anyone else could react, but it didn’t do anything beyond make the bright light bursting through his skin flicker briefly. What it did do was make Blondie turn towards Curly with all the wrath of a thousand primeval rock monsters.

“Don’t kill him!” Varric shouted, though he wasn’t entirely sure what the plan was beyond getting Blondie to calm down. Didn’t seem very feasible considering the only person who had a chance of calming him down in this state was currently buried under tons of snow.

“Should we be killed instead?” Seeker snapped, wild-eyed and slipping backwards as a slash of fire magic arced towards her and Curly.

“Fuck!” Varric tried to dart towards Blondie, only to flinch back at the surge of energy that almost burned off his eyebrows. How was he supposed to—

A puff of purple smoke blew into Blondie’s face. It didn’t seem to do anything for a moment, but then the light in his skin flickered, dimming.

The kid came into view as the smoke dissipated slightly, one hand stretched out to touch Blondie’s chest. “It’s okay,” he said. “I can help. Please calm down, Justice.”

Blondie didn’t try to attack him, but his body was shuddering violently. “ **How**? **He’s** —”

“He wouldn’t want you to do this,” the kid said, still touching Blondie’s chest. “You know that. Let us help.”

Words were pretty and all, but Varric wasn’t going to be taking any chances, especially with Curly and Seeker eyeing Blondie like they were going to take the next shot they could. He was just about to march up and hit Blondie over the head with Bianca when the light coming from him went out like a match and he fell to the ground.

That…was pretty anticlimactic.

“Sleeping powder,” the kid said, meeting Varric’s eyes. “Justice let go, so Anders could come out, but he’s not a spirit. I helped, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, kid,” Varric huffed, slowly letting Bianca drop. “You did.” He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes tightly. “ _Fuck_. What was he thinking? Do I look like a mini-Hawke?”

“Hawke.” Seeker’s voice was tightly controlled, and snow crunched.

Varric opened his eyes to see Seeker staring down at Blondie for a long moment before looking up over Varric’s head and to the buried Haven. Then she met his eyes. “ _Hawke_ ,” she repeated, stepping around Blondie’s prone body. “Are you telling me that we just sentenced the Champion of Kirkwall to death?”

Varric squared his shoulders, but he wasn’t able to stop the reflexive pain that shot through his chest at the reminder. “What,” he tried to snark, “didn’t bother you when it was just the Herald?”

Seeker ignored the admittedly poor joke. “That was  _Hawke_ all along?”

“That does explain some things,” Nightingale said, sounding thoughtful.

“You saying you didn’t know?” The Iron Bull sounded amused.

Nightingale’s eyebrows rose. “You did? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought it was obvious?” The Iron Bull tilted his head.

Nightingale’s response was stilted. “Of course…”

“What gave it away?” Varric asked.

“He was a little too cozy with you guys,” the Iron Bull said, gesturing towards Varric and Blondie. “And some other things.” He shrugged in response to Varric’s look. “What? Ben-Hassrath, remember?”

Varric didn’t say anything else, hefting Bianca on his back and crouching by Blondie to check his pulse. That was one thing he had learned about healing.

“We need to move,” Curly said after a long stilted silence wherein Seeker’s fuming was still audible. “That avalanche may have bought us time, but there could be more coming. We’re too close to Haven. Any arguing can wait until after we’ve gotten to safety.”

“Fine.” Satisfied with Blondie’s pulse, Varric stood. “But I can’t carry him, and we’re not leaving him behind either.”

“Right, but if he wakes up and starts glowing again like he did earlier, I’m dropping him on his ass.” The Iron Bull bent down and picked Blondie up like he weighed nothing, dislodging both staffs in the process. He paused. “I thought he’d weigh more.”

Varric said nothing, leaning down to pick up Blondie’s staff and the Key that had been retrieved from Hawke’s cabin during the mess in Haven.

Blondie might not weigh a lot, but there was more than enough weighing down Varric’s shoulders to make up for it.

Not in the least the fact that his best friend was buried under an avalanche because Varric hadn’t been able to talk him out of his stupid plan.

* * *

_“Inquisition soldiers will help you load the trebuchets—”_

_“Cullen, I’ve got this.”_

_“Are you mad? Suicidal? You can’t go out there alone—”_

_“Cullen… **I’ve got this**.”_

_“…You?!”_

_“You know I’ve got this. Get the others out.It’ll be fine.”_

The pouch of lyrium potions Dorian had handed him was heavy at his side, not because the bottles weighed much but because of what they represented. There was probably a health potion or two mixed in there, but Hawke hadn’t bothered looking.

He looked up at the cloudy sky, breathed in achingly cold oxygen, and then headed left, bypassing templar corpses and suspiciously robed ones that looked like mages.

The army facing them hadn’t just been templars, a good amount consisting of mages wearing robes that Hawke hadn’t seen before. There also seemed to be one or two Wardens mixed into the bunch now that he could take the time and look.

Snarls and curses sounded from elsewhere in Haven, accompanied by metal clanging and pounding feet. There was the crackle of magic, but Hawke couldn’t feel it with the incessant buzzing under his skin getting in the way.

Hawke came to the cabin that had been Dorian’s and found himself face to face with several templars that felt horribly like they were infected with red lyrium.

They caught sight of him, seemed surprised to see him there, and then instantly rallied to attack.

Hawke didn’t give them the time, pulling on his mana and freezing each of them from the inside out with little concern for finesse. Ice and blood spewed out of their armor seconds before each of the bodies hit the ground.

More would be coming.

Glancing back at the Chantry, Hawke was reassured by the sight of no one following after him.

It would make this next step much easier if all he had to worry about was himself.

Slipping into Dorian’s cabin, Hawke shut the door and leaned back against it, closing his eyes. There was still far too much magic buzzing under his skin, but that would actually be helpful now.

Taking a deep breath, Hawke focused, spreading his awareness out and into Haven, following trails of magic and the Veil. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cast either of these spells, only that it had been a while because they weren’t the sort of spells he could use with his friends accompanying him.

The first spell left him on a sharp exhale, static electricity setting his hairs on edge and prickling his skin. The second spell was cast seconds later on an inhale, the temperature plummeting around him, the torches on the cabin’s walls going out with a sizzle.

The interminable buzzing under his skin disappeared, and Hawke found himself able to breathe. The air was still choked with magic, but it wasn’t in him anymore, and he could feel the Fade about him.

The ground beneath him shuddered as electricity struck it, and the windows blew out with a gust of icy cold wind.

Bracing his back against the door for another brief moment, Hawke clenched his jaw, took a deep breath that chilled his throat, and warded himself to the Void and back. Wrenching the door open, Hawke bolted out into the magical chaos he’d created, sidestepping a bolt of electricity that hit the ground.

He knew exactly where the edges of the storm were, making a direct beeline there. He was dimly aware of shrieks and screams of pain, but most of it was drowned out by the howling of the blizzard he had conjured.

Stumbling down a rock wall, Hawke landed heavily on his knees, but he was out of the storm, even if he could still feel it biting at his heels. Exhaling, he let the wards drop, standing and hurrying towards the nearest trebuchet he could see.

There was a robed pair standing there, and Hawke took out his daggers, taking them both down with a running jump and wedging the blades into their necks. He withdrew them a second later, kicking off their bodies and taking the rest of the way to the trebuchet at a dead sprint.

He had no way of knowing how long it would take them to get through those tunnels and to safety, but he needed to make sure that he was ready when they were out.

Coming to a stop by the wheel that would allow him to turn the trebuchet in the correct direction, Hawke pulled in rapid breaths of oxygen, evaluating his surroundings and the current state of the trebuchet. It wasn’t loaded or aimed properly, but the boulders he needed were right next to it. There was a fence in front of the trebuchet, blocking his line of sight but also keeping out most enemies.

Hopefully.

Unless they could scale or jump it?

There was a sheer rock face behind him, but an opening in one spot that led to a path that presumably led to outside of Haven. It definitely wasn’t secure, and he couldn’t chance leaving his back open to an attack.

Gathering the mana necessary for this next bit of spell work, Hawke spun in a circle, sliding his foot in the snow. A circle of paralysis and repulsion glyphs sprang into life, glowing dimly in the dark. There was nothing he could do about that light, but most people didn’t look at their feet when going to attack.

Relatively sure that he wouldn’t be caught off guard now, Hawke went to try and move one of the boulders to load the trebuchet. He tried to lift it, only to fall back when all he succeeded in doing was dislodging it from the pile and sending it crashing to the ground.

It was far too heavy and large for him to be able to lift easily.

He should’ve accepted Cullen’s help—

No.

No other Inquisition soldiers were going to die on his watch. He could do this by himself. It would just require a little more strategic thinking.

Rolling his shoulders, Hawke bent and started rolling the boulder to load on the machine. It wasn’t a large distance, which was good because he had little patience for rolling a rock much further.

One of the glyphs went off, and he spared a glance over his shoulder to see an armored figure frozen in place where it had somehow bypassed the magical storm that was crackling over the only clear entryway. It was also the same entryway that people had stood at the day before to gawk at Anders.

Huffing, Hawke returned his attention to the boulder, giving it a few more pushes before it finally settled to a stop right where he needed it to be. Another glyph went off the moment the boulder came to a stop, followed by a startled yell as the magic ejected the offending person back in the direction they’d come from.

Ignoring the tension starting to coil in his shoulders, Hawke focused his attention on the boulder, gathering his magic for something far more focused than he usually did. Gritting his teeth through the backlash of another glyph going off, Hawke pushed with force magic.

He’d never done something like this before with force magic, but there was always a first time for everything. Like trying to get a boulder from point A to point B with delicate precision better suited for an engineer.

The worst thing that could happen would be overshooting his mark and hitting one of the paralyzed templars.

But it’d be nice if he didn’t have to fetch another boulder. Less stress and all.

The boulder jolted up several feet before falling in the exact same place it had been in before.

Exhaling heavily with frustration, Hawke flexed his fingers and shifted his feet, eyeing the boulder and the distance it still needed to go.

A little more precision? Or another spell?

A scream of rage sounded from behind him.

Hawke spun, jumping to the side as an armored person with red blades for arms stabbed down in the spot he’d been standing in only a second ago.

Wait…the arms were blades?

Hawke gaped in disbelief for a few seconds before snapping to attention when the thing attacked again, swiping at him with those blade-arms. He dodged to the side again, this time firing back with a surge of electricity that struck them in the chest.

He didn’t stop there, guiding offshoots of the bolt to each of the others that were frozen in place by his glyphs, hopefully stopping their hearts.

The first templar was either dead or insensate from the aftermath of that much electricity surging through their body, giving Hawke enough breathing room to return to the boulder.

He wasn’t going to be defeated by a rock. It wasn’t even alive this time.

Narrowing his eyes, Hawke set his feet and focused again. This time he knocked the boulder up in the air and when it was high enough gave it a strong push in the right direction. This time the boulder dropped into the sling with a soft thud.

Blowing out a relieved breath, Hawke took a few steps back and then headed to the wheel to turn the trebuchet. It was currently aimed towards the mountain pass at the far end, and he needed to bury Haven, not the pass.

Hands touching the wheel, Hawke closed his eyes and refreshed the fading glyphs. Then he began the slow process of turning the wheel. It stumbled and clicked, the trebuchet groaning as it slowly began to click into place.

It was terribly slow, but it was moving.

And he just needed to buy time.

Hawke glanced over his shoulder to the mountains behind Haven, still not seeing the signal that they’d made it out. Cullen would make it obvious when they were.

For right now…just focus on what he needed to do.

He should probably be more terrified than he was. Maybe he was, but he couldn’t actually tell with the pounding of his heart and his breathing loud in his ears. It could be adrenaline or terror fueling him now.

Maybe it was a mixture of both.

The excess magic from closing the Breach had been burned off now, and he was all too aware of the magic prickling at his skin. The storms he’d conjured didn’t help, although it was his own magic he was sensing.

The trebuchet was almost aimed when the ground shook.

Hawke hesitated, hands stilling on the wheel. Maybe…it was nothing?

But the ground vibrated under his feet again, and this time there was no denying the feel of corrupted lyrium, its familiar sensation grating against his senses.

His glyphs activated and shorted out, something far stronger than he’d expected breaking them casually. The magic backlash had him flinching, breath escaping in a pained hiss.

He almost didn’t want to turn around and see what it was.

But…

Steeling his nerves, he slowly turned around, only to feel his heart skip a beat and his breath freeze in his lungs at the sight. It was a horribly mutated thing that towered over him. It might have been a templar at one point but it was difficult to make out that it had even been human.

It was more crystal than flesh, spikes of red lyrium bursting out of the back and arms. One arm looked more like a club of crystals than anything like a limb.

After another few paralyzing seconds, Hawke realized that if he stayed right where he was, the monster would probably destroy the wheel, and then he’d have no way of aiming the trebuchet.

“Any chance you’re here to help me out?” Hawke couldn’t help but ask, slowly stepping to the side. He could tell that the thing was watching him move.

It turned its head in his direction, its skeletal face frozen in an expression of pure agony.

Hawke froze again, breath stalled in his chest.

How had Corypheus done this? Why would anyone consume red lyrium like this? To not even be human anymore—

The monster lunged.

The suddenness of the move had Hawke flinching back, which was possibly the only thing that saved his life.

The world seemed to slow in a way that only happened on rare occasions when Hawke was about to get stabbed through the chest, his head cut off, blown apart into little pieces, or otherwise about to face death. Hawke saw the monster jumping, far too quickly for a being its size, club-arm raised to bring down in a devastating blow.

And, body already in motion, Hawke scrambled backwards, taking several steps before the monster hit the ground, poisonous red crystals flying with the impact.

He stumbled over his feet as the ground shook from the strike, falling backwards on his ass with a pained jolt up his spine. But he didn’t stop moving, scrabbling back and putting more distance between them.

There was an unearthly groan from the former templar, the sound absolute agony, and it made as if to stand.

Hawke didn’t hesitate to freeze, watching as ice burst out of the monster’s crystallized skin and crept over the visible armor until there was nothing but an ice block standing before him.

When there was no sign of movement for several long seconds, Hawke sighed in relief. He slowly stood, wiping the dirt off his hands.

The ice shattered, a terrible scream piercing the air.

Hawke yelped, throwing a hand out and directing fire in the sound’s direction.

The blaze of fire went high, missing the monster entirely as it collapsed to the ground and became still.

Hawke trembled, fire and electricity swirling around his hands for agonizing long moments. But when there was no sign of movement at all from the body, he let the magic go. His mana wasn’t quite at dangerously low levels yet, but he didn’t want to get into any prolonged fights either.

Still eyeing the body warily, Hawke turned back to the trebuchet. Something bumped against his thigh, reminding him of the pouch Dorian had given him.

He downed a potion as he returned to the wheel, tingling with the rush of energy that surged through him. The lyrium left an unpleasant aftertaste that he ignored. It wouldn’t turn him into a red crystallized monster so he’d deal with it.

A few more turns of the wheel and the trebuchet was finally aimed in the right direction. Hawke ran up on the platform, reaching for the lever that would launch it.

A deafening roar shook the air, followed a second later by foul magic that  _burned_.

Running on pure instinct, Hawke dove to the side, throwing himself clear of the trebuchet. He hit the ground rolling, plowing right into a snow drift.

Wood splintered and burst apart, foul magic crashing into the trebuchet and destroying it. The ground rumbled under Hawke, the vibrations shaking his bones.

He looked up, seeing the dragon land on the ruined remnants of the trebuchet. It growled at him, baring sharp teeth set in a face that seemed more similar to a skull than an actual dragon head.

The entire dragon looked more like it was a walking corpse than a high dragon, although Hawke had only seen two high dragons before, and one had been Flemeth and the other he’d killed. Either way, it looked both fucking terrifying and pissed off.

And it had just destroyed the trebuchet.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

Slowly pushing himself to his feet, Hawke pulled in several breaths through his mouth, but he could still taste the foul magic the dragon had spat out. The sensation of corrupted lyrium rang through the air, and Hawke traced it to red crystals embedded in the dragon’s skin.

He probably shouldn’t even be surprised at this point.

Something tugged at the mark, green light inadvertently spilling from it.

Glancing down at it, Hawke’s head quickly snapped up at a dreaded voice.

“I knew it was you. I recognized your stench.” Corypheus came into sight at the dragon’s side, long fingers clutching an orb in his left hand.

“I’m pretty sure I bathed,” Hawke said, mouth dry.

Corypheus didn’t seem amused at his wit. “You think you can hide from me? Your presence in the Fade burns,  _Hawke_.”

Hawke slid a foot back. “I’m also relatively certain I’m not on fire.”

“Jest all you want. I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now, and so does your end.”

Pain exploded in Hawke’s left hand, something  _pulling_  at the mark and  _tearing_  at it. It felt like someone had taken a knife and was trying to dig it out.

Somehow he was on his knees, blood in his mouth from where he had apparently bitten his tongue. His left hand was tucked between his stomach and legs, clenched into a tight fist that didn’t help alleviate the pain at all.

Breathing heavily, Hawke looked up, seeing Corypheus walk towards him with the strange orb in his left hand. It was glowing a sickly red, the color of Corypheus’s magic.

“You interrupted a ritual years in the making and stole its purpose,” Corypheus said, voice deadly quiet. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Only you would be so tenacious as to survive where others would have died.”

Hawke would have said that he was flattered, but his voice was locked in his throat. He suspected that if he tried to speak, all that would come out was a scream.

“I crafted it to assault the heavens,” Corypheus said, the orb and his free hand glowing with red magic. “And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The  _gall_.”

Anchor? An anchor to  _what_?

Hawke couldn’t think, the pain of something tugging at the mark and also pulling at his  _magic_  was overwhelming. But he heaved in a pained breath, pushing down a pained cry as he managed, “This isn’t yours.”  _Not **your**  magic._

It wasn’t. It didn’t feel like Corypheus, even if it looked like his magic.

“Do not speak of that which you cannot understand.” Rage suffused Corypheus’s tone.

Hawke tried to stand to get away from Corypheus, but his legs gave out before he got halfway, landing him on his ass. He slid back, pressing his left hand to his stomach, right hand pushing against the ground.

But Corypheus kept coming closer, orb radiating that red magic that was a mixture of Corypheus’s and something else.

He was still pulling at the mark, but Hawke’s own magic was getting pulled along for the ride. It felt  _awful_ , nothing like a templar’s smite that cancelled his magic out. This was like Corypheus was trying to pull his magic out by the roots.

But the mark – Anchor… Wasn’t it also his by now? Hadn’t he learned how to use it? Wasn’t it on  _his_  hand?

It was  _his_ , not Corypheus’s.

Corypheus took another step closer, one foot away from Hawke’s feet, and he reacted without thinking, throwing up a wave of ice that knocked into Corypheus and blocked him and the dragon from view.

And then, before he could rethink the notion, Hawke pulled back against what was tearing at the mark, yanking at it like he would a rope.

The pulling stopped, but a surge of unexpected energy rushed into the mark. His entire hand lit up, the pain magnifying exponentially.

Hawke couldn’t bite the cry of pain back, bending over his hand. It didn’t feel quite  _there_ , like it was gone.

But he could feel where it was, reaching for it and suppressing the magic of the mark like he had before. As suddenly as it had started, the pain vanished and the light faded, retreating to the mark on his palm.

Panting, Hawke forced himself to relax his hand, muscles cramping with the movement. Then, slowly, he stood, legs wobbling slightly but holding fast.

He reached for his daggers, letting the wall of ice he’d conjured melt to the ground.

Corypheus was standing by his dragon, blood streaked across his face and melting ice clinging to his robes. His eyes were wide with something like fear when he met Hawke’s.

“Do you want to try this again?” Hawke asked, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a small smile.

Corypheus seemed to flinch back, but then he opened his mouth and screamed, “You dare challenge a  _god_?”

“That’s a new one.” Hawke made to lunge at Corypheus, only to reverse direction when the dragon jumped forwards, putting a leg between them.

Hawke flung electricity at the dragon’s head before it could bring it down. It reared back, roaring in pain.

When he turned to look, Corypheus was no longer in sight, although Hawke could feel the magic of that orb not far away. He was probably watching to see if his dragon could make quick work of Hawke where he’d failed.

Considering Hawke was still feeling kind of shaky and was on his own against a freaking  _dragon_ …that wasn’t too improbable.

He’d never faced a dragon on his own before.

Dragons weren’t technically magic-resistant like dwarves were, but something about their hide and general biology made it difficult for most general magic attacks to get through or have an effect on their biology. Otherwise Hawke would’ve frozen it from the inside out or roasted it alive or done  _something_  better than the half-assed plan he was putting together.

The dragon was still shaking its head, stomping around in pain. If there was one thing Hawke knew, it was that being in range of the wings and tail – or anything, really – was dangerous.

Before he could rethink his – probably suicidal – plan, Hawke ran to the dragon, avoiding the legs but now too close for the wings and tail to be a danger. If Aveline or Fenris had been here, he could have used their distraction to climb up on the dragon.

But they weren’t, and he was alone…

Could  _he_  make the distraction?

Noting the dragon was beginning to calm down, Hawke turned on his heel, faced the dragon’s front, and pulled up a mini-fire storm that should do the trick.

There was a snarling sound, and the dragon snapped at it, foul magic dripping from its jaws.

The dragon’s head was low enough he could do this, although he could hear Carver swearing at him. Actually, Fenris’s voice was in the mix, too.

But since when had he listened to their protests?

They weren’t even  _here_.

Springing forward, Hawke pushed  _down_  with force magic, sending him airborne. He stabbed down with a dagger, digging the blade into the scaly side of the dragon’s neck and sending a surge of electricity through it for good measure.

A howl split the air, but Hawke was still moving up, grabbing hold where possible and using blades when it wasn’t. There were less scales than expected, most of the dragon’s skin raw skin that felt cold and slimy to the touch, and the scent of rotting meat was overpowering.

He was level with the dragon’s eye when it started shaking its head, and Hawke almost went flying.

Okay, okay, he could work with this—

The head swung back down, Hawke going with it, and he yanked his dagger out of its skin, sliding down the side of the face until he was at the eye—

Hawke hit the ground with a thud that knocked the wind out of him and had his head ringing.

But his dagger – the dagger was gone.

Hawke rolled onto his back, gasping for air and peering up through stinging eyes to see the dragon pawing at its left eye. Closing his own briefly, Hawke focused his mana and sought out the familiar blade, instantly setting it on fire.

The eye didn’t quite burst into flames, but it glowed red for a second before shriveling like a grape, smoke sizzling from the ruined remnants.

The dragon was snarling, shaking its head, and its tail destroying everything in reach. It was also quite blind on one side.

Rolling to his feet, chest hurting with the effort of drawing in air, Hawke took in hand his remaining dagger and sprinted to the dragon, stumbling just a bit for the initial steps before hitting his stride. Corypheus screamed something he couldn’t make out, but it couldn’t be that important since most of what he usually said was hot air.

A clawed foot came down right in front of him, and he jumped on it before he could rethink the move. Then he scrambled up the leg, using a mixture of magic and acrobatics to climb, muscles jolting and complaining every time he was almost thrown off. At one point his shoulder was almost jerked out of the socket, but he managed to grab hold with his other hand.

It was still difficult to catch his breath, dark spots at the corner of his eyes at the lack of oxygen. But he couldn’t stop to fix that.

Once on top of the dragon, Hawke spared the only seconds he could to try and get some of the oxygen he was missing, but he couldn’t waste more time. He got to his knees and scrabbled up the dragon’s neck. There was a liberal use of magical grease involved to keep his balance, but Hawke was going to use every tool in the box.

Hawke had just reached the spot above the dragon’s second eye when the taste of magic sharpened.

It was about time for Corypheus to get off his ass.

Hawke dove, sliding off the edge and stabbing down with his dagger. The sickly squelching sound of steel sinking into the eye was loud, as was the dragon’s scream. Hawke didn’t let go, his body weight dragging the blade down the rest of the eye. And then, just to be sure, he channeled heat through it.

The screeching roar nearly burst his eardrums, and Hawke let go before he could be flung off. He hit the ground and rolled, coming out in a crouch.

Pulling in air was painful, black spots crowding his vision and his head swimming with the lack of oxygen. But then his lungs opened, and he was able to heave in more air, one hand pressed to his chest as if he could calm his pounding heartbeat.

The dragon was blinded, and he couldn’t help but grin with exhilaration.

Standing slowly, Hawke looked one more time at the screeching, whining dragon scrabbling at its ruined eyes before turning to see Corypheus standing there, face enraged.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said breathlessly, unable to hide his smile. “Did I hurt your dragon?”

Corypheus didn’t respond, his mouth turning into a grimace, but he raised the orb.

There was a tug at the mark, but Hawke pulled back before the pain could start. His entire hand glowed green, for an instant feeling not quite  _there_  again before he pushed the magic down and the light subsided.

Corypheus jolted forwards slightly before freezing, his expression of rage deepening. He threw a hand out, directing a stream of fire at Hawke.

Hawke dodged, not wanting to waste mana on facing it head-on. The fire followed, heat blazing at his back.

The dragon roared, and a second later Hawke choked on that foul magic. He dove to the ground, ducking under a stream of that corrosive magic the dragon spat out. Once clear, Hawke pushed to his feet, stumbled, and hit a rhythm again.

He bolted right, using the dragon to block whatever Corypheus would aim at him. He ducked under a swinging tail, swerved right again, and bolted around the dragon to come at Corypheus and aim a stream of electricity at him.

The attack hit its mark as magic usually did, Corypheus rearing back with a snarl.

Hawke drew in a breath, about to focus on fire before he was airborne and hitting something hard with a pained grunt, feeling something  _crack_  inside his chest. It ached like something had bludgeoned it, his sternum on fire from the impact he hadn’t expected.

He struggled to his knees, wheezing and tasting iron in his mouth as ribs shifted in ways they shouldn’t.

What had hit him?

Something  _swooshed_  over his head, and Hawke glanced up to see the dragon’s tail coiling back to its body.

Ah…well…that would do it, wouldn’t it?

Hawke tried to stand, only to fall back against the cold rock behind him when his vision swam dangerously. Something crunched against his thigh, and he looked down to see that the pouch Dorian had given him was soaked through and looking rather blue.

 _Shit_.

He’d been thrown around one too many times for the flasks to stay intact. He could’ve used a health potion right about now considering his healing spells were worth shit.

His skin prickled as he felt a surge of magic, and he put up a barrier rather than try a futile dodge. The spell would just follow him anyway.

His magic thankfully responded better than his body did, although he could only spare the least amount of mana possible for the barrier. It fizzled out immediately after absorbing the malicious spell, although the backlash fizzled against his skin, muscles twitching briefly at the contact.

Wrapping one arm around himself, Hawke pushed himself off the rock, wobbling dangerously for an instant before finding his balance. He tried not to breathe too deeply, but it was impossible to miss the way his ribs shifted with every movement he made.

Closing his eyes, he tried a minor healing spell, one that he couldn’t fuck up too badly.

Breathing immediately became easier, but his mana dipped lower than he could afford.

The corrosive magic of the dragon hit the ground several feet to his left, and Hawke hastily moved in the opposite direction, one eye on Corypheus.

“You seem to be in pain,” Corypheus said, a sneer underlying the words. “Would you like me to fix that?” His right hand flared red.

“I doubt you can do a healing spell anymore than I can,” Hawke said, the words pained. “But no thanks.”

“Defiant to the last, I see.” Corypheus straightened to his full height, face twisting.

Hawke managed to move carefully to the side, relieved when his ribs didn’t shift quite so dangerously anymore. It brought him back within eyesight of where Cullen would probably let the flare loose.

Which better be soon. He wasn’t sure how much more time he could buy in his current state.

“I like defying expectations,” Hawke said eventually. “It’s a thing I do. Besides, what’s the fun in laying down and dying?”

A flicker of light sparked into life at the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to see a flare go up in the air.

Maker’s breath,  _thank you_.

But there was no trebuchet to fire, and Hawke couldn’t hurl a rock at the mountain with pure willpower alone.

The mountain was also too far away for any conventional spells to reach, but…

Shit, this was going to  _hurt_.

Hawke inhaled sharply through his teeth, gathering exactly the amount of mana needed for the initial spell. Without warning, he let the fireball lose, shooting it right over Corypheus’s head and into the sky.

He staggered at the drop in mana, but his attention was on the fireball, keeping hold of the magic that kept it burning and feeding it whenever it threatened to die out.

“Such terrible spell work,” Corypheus said, tutting slightly, his voice suddenly much closer than before.

Hawke could barely spare the attention to see where the magister was now, but there was no missing the spindly fingers that closed around his left wrist, yanking him up into the air and level with Corypheus’s head.

His ribs protested the violent treatment, as did every other bone in his body.

Corypheus was saying something else, something about serving the Old Gods and walking into the Golden City to find it empty, but Hawke was having trouble focusing, all of his attention on feeding the fireball still flying through the air.

It was further than any spell he’d cast before, and he was scraping the bottom of his mana reserves in an effort at keeping it going. He was following its track, feeling the magic of it burning brightly.

He almost wasn’t aware of his body, of the way Corypheus was jerking him about. The pain of something tearing at the mark again was faded, every bit of his mind on the fireball and keeping it alive.

There wasn’t any mana left.

He felt it die out when it hit the mountain, but the impact sent a shudder through his bones, and suddenly he was back in his body, muscles screaming in agony and his left hand on another plane of existence entirely with how it seemed to be protesting Corypheus’s attempts at tearing the mark out.

“You’ve sullied it,” Corypheus snarled, shaking Hawke about.

Hawke didn’t have any air or energy left to say anything, vision swimming too badly to focus on Corypheus.

But he noticed Corypheus stilling when a sound reached their ears.

It was a rushing sound that sounded like falling water magnified a thousandfold.

“You –  _what did you do_?” Corypheus sounded frightened.

There was no answer, but Corypheus didn’t seem to have expected any.

But he flung Hawke away.

He was airborne for what seemed like an eternity, and then he hit something unmovable, hearing something  _snap_  in his chest for the second time. He fell to the ground, landing heavily on his front, something seeming to splinter underneath him from the impact.

Maybe the avalanche would get Corypheus?

Something beat against the air, wind blowing past Hawke. A deafening roar split his head in two, and Hawke turned his head just enough to see the dragon lift off into the air, Corypheus in its claws.

Okay…fuck.

There was an avalanche bearing down on Haven, with him caught in the crossfire, and he barely had the energy left to draw breath, let alone move.

But he  _tried_ , lungs screaming at him and ribs shifting in ways that were unnatural. He tried to get to his knees, but all he managed was a feeble twitch and raising himself several inches before his limbs gave out entirely and he hit the ground again, darkness encroaching on his vision.

He thought the ground gave way underneath him, and maybe he was falling, but all he could see was the dark.

* * *

_He hadn’t thought places could feel worse than Kirkwall, but this stretch of the Vimmark Mountains was competing for a place at the top of that list. Which included the dreaded thaig where they’d been trapped, Sundermount, and Lothering during the darkspawn._

_Kirkwall felt sick, a constant miasma clinging to the place that made it difficult to breathe and made his magic feel off. There was always more, but by now he’d gotten somewhat used to it._

_But this place… Somehow it was worse._

_There was an oppressive atmosphere to it, like something was **watching**. The Veil was thin, and there were constant whispers at the edge of his hearing. Thankfully nothing like the screams inundating Kirkwall, but the whispers were almost worse in a way._

_Something had happened here._

_Perhaps not the same things that had happened in Kirkwall, but something just as momentous and just as awful that left its persistent mark on the area._

_There were ruins as well. Ruins they hadn’t expected to find and that he did **not want to go into**._

_But that was where the Carta was, and they did need to find out what was going on._

_Only he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know **what**  they wanted his blood for. Or Carver’s. They apparently weren’t picky, and that had Carver snarking right and left._

_“Attacking me in the templar barracks and they could’ve just gone after you?” Carver grumbled._

_“They did,” Anders said, shooting Carver a sidelong look._

_“A thing of beauty,” Varric said, looking off into the distance like he was going to burst into song. Hopefully he wouldn’t. Varric couldn’t really carry a tune unless it was a drinking song. “There Hawke was, sitting on a dozen dwarven bodies—”_

_“It was two, Varric.”_

_“—a dozen dwarven bodies,” Varric said determinedly, ignoring him, “and more strewn about him, and he was browbeating one into saying why they attacked—”_

_“That was Fenris.”_

_“So here we are.” Varric gave him a long look. “You’ve no sense of style, Hawke.”_

_“I have style,” he said, mildly offended. “But you’re pushing it. I can’t sit on twelve bodies. Do I look that big to you?”_

_“Well, comparatively speaking, you’re kind of big compared to small fry like me—”_

_“I don’t need to hear this,” Carver interrupted, sounding disgusted._

_“You didn’t have to come, Carver.”_

_“They went after me, too,” Carver answered aggressively, not looking back at him. “Or should I have just stayed back and twiddled my thumbs?”_

_“Yes,” Anders said flatly._

_“Considering my track record,” he said, swallowing thickly at the memory of the last conversation he’d had with Carver, “you probably shouldn’t be here.”_

_“Can’t be that bad,” Carver said dismissively. “No darkspawns or serial killers around, are there?”_

_“ **Carver** ,” Anders snapped angrily._

_Carver ignored him. “They involved me in this, and I’m going to see this through. Go back to Kirkwall if you’re scared.”_

_“I’ll save Bodahn the heart attack of cleaning up after more bodies,” he said, forcing a lightness to his tone that he didn’t feel._

_He wouldn’t go back to Kirkwall, anyway. Varric and Anders would come back with him, leaving Carver alone here, and he couldn’t risk that._

_Although as it turned out, he began to wish that he hadn’t taken Anders after all. He hated the Deep Roads, and they were in the Deep Roads again. And then there was the terrifying way Anders was beginning to lose his grip on what was real and what was the voice in his head._

_So he broke the spells guarding this Corypheus that the Wardens had locked away, if only so that he could get Anders out. They could deal with the repercussions once they were out, but he wasn’t going to be locked away in the depths of the earth._

_But then there **was**  Corypheus, and he thought he understood some more about what made this place so awful. It wasn’t just the demon that had been locked away aboveground. That had only been part of it._

_But this—_

_“Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?”_

_This was a nightmare come to life, and it was all he could do to **hold on**._

_Yet, compared to the others after the fight and Larius bid them goodbye, he was in relatively good shape. Even if his ribs hurt and he had electrical burns over his hands and arms from where he’d gotten too close to Corypheus._

_Anders looked a wreck, Carver had blood streaked all over him from wounds that had only just been healed, and Varric’s hair was on all ends and he was nursing a broken arm that Anders didn’t yet have the mana to take care of._

_“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Carver asked as they walked down the path away from Corypheus’s prison._

_He’d certainly looked very dead, and he’d even poked the body with the end of his new staff to be sure. But he was blinder than he usually was, the oppressive atmosphere and queasy feeling of the Fade here making it difficult to track presences like he would be able to anywhere else that wasn’t here, Kirkwall, or Sundermount._

_Corypheus had been an overwhelming presence in the Fade, and that had disappeared when he’d struck the last blow._

_“If he isn’t,” he said finally, “then we’ve gotten rather bad at killing.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _loved_ writing this chapter. Although, granted, I really wanted to get it right so it was kind of frustrating in that aspect.
> 
> This is also the first time we really get to see Hawke in action! Since every other time he's kind of been a little restrained and restricted to what others think he can do. This time...the gloves are off.  
> Who can point out all the little differences from in-game? It's a combo of what should have made sense in-game vs. Hawke being the Inquisitor.
> 
> Anyway!! Thoughts? :D
> 
> Next chapter should be up next Saturday!


	12. The Frostback Mountains I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not as long as the last one, and it doesn't really have any action in it either. Anyone's played the game should know exactly what's going to happen now. Except this is... _Hawke style_.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the lovely feedback!! I hope you like this one.
> 
> As for the flashback scenes, it should be apparent as to when they take place. I figured it'd be nice to have two of Hawke's reveals match up - with how he faced the Arishok and now after his identity was finally revealed to everyone in Haven.

_He supposed he was damn lucky that Meredith hadn’t seen him use magic. She’d only seen Anders – Merrill busy helping the elves in the Alienage – and she’d been pretty clear on her distaste of him hiding Anders’s presence from her templars, but she’d said nothing about him._

_She’d only evaluated him with a judgmental eye and turned to Carver, commenting something about not having known Carver had a brother._

_Carver hadn’t looked at him, ignoring him entirely. He supposed he hadn’t expected anything different, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting._

_Not that it was anything he could spare attention to. The Qunari were still at large, and they’d taken over Viscount’s Keep much to Aveline’s chagrin._

_Although Orsino and Meredith seemed more intent on arguing amongst themselves than actually focusing on the problem, they listened quickly enough. Even if Meredith gave him the stink eye._

_Well, he could put it off to the blood splattered over his face and clothes. He wasn’t sure he could get the taste of his mouth, even after grabbing some alcohol from Fenris and trying to wash it out._

_But they were in Viscount’s Keep now, Orsino serving as bait and Meredith and her templars serving as a distraction as well. Carver was still out there, but he hadn’t said anything to his brother either._

_Maybe he’d regret it, but what could he say to Carver? The last words they’d shared had been in anger and grief, and Carver had made it clear what he thought of him._

_So it wouldn’t be a great loss if something happened to him, although he was sure Anders would vehemently disagree with that. He’d made it clear what he thought of Carver, both verbally and through demonstrating on several unfortunate vegetables._

_Jumping up and rolling down a Qunari warrior’s back, he stabbed a dagger into the vulnerable kidney, raising his chin and freezing two other Qunari that tried to rush him._

_The mage Qunari that Aveline and Fenris were trying to beat down wasn’t going down easily, the magic he was using wild and uncontrolled. It bit at his skin, and he had to shake off a stray arc of electricity before reaching out and freezing the other._

_Fenris’s attack broke the ice but also broke the Qunari as well. “I had him, Hawke.”_

_He shrugged, wiping the blood off his dagger and stepping over a dead Qunari. “Thought I’d make it easier.” He reached up to rub at his forehead, grimacing when he smeared something sticky and warm over the skin._

_“You’re not injured, are you?” Anders asked. He was there several seconds later, pressing careful fingers to his face and turning it to inspect carefully._

_“Some scratches,” he said. “It’s fine.”_

_“I’m going to kick Isabela’s ass when I get my hands on her,” Aveline grumbled, coming into sight over the railings. “Anders, stop fussing over Hawke. That Qunari mage got in one good spell before Hawke iced him, and I’m sure my fingers shouldn’t be tingling like this.”_

_“This is why I don’t carry a shield,” Fenris said._

_Aveline shot him a sidelong look. “Are you sure it isn’t because you like waving a large sword around?”_

_There was a snort from Anders, but he pretended he’d said nothing as he busied himself with Aveline._

_Carefully picking his way up the remaining steps, he caught his breath. He reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose before he remembered that doing anything with his face was inadvisable, but by that point he had already rubbed a streak of what was presumably blood over the skin._

_“I like the look,” Varric commented, sitting on top of a Qunari riddled with arrows. He was picking them out one by one. “You should keep it.”_

_“I’m not planning on going to frolic in the woods, so I think I might just go and take a bath.”_

_“Preferably a shower,” Sebastian said, resolutely not looking down at his formerly white armor._

_The breather was probably ill-advised, but none of them were superhuman and had already seen too many fights before even entering Viscount’s Keep. It was only a few minutes, and then they were running through the hall to the Viscount’s throne room. The doors were locked, but he forced them open with an application of brute force before Varric or Sebastian could volunteer their lock picking skills._

_The nobles were huddled in a panicked mess around the foot of the stairs leading to the throne, carefully avoiding a body on the floor and what looked like a head. The Viscount’s head._

_He spared the sight a brief glance before looking up to the Arishok, continuing to walk forward. The Qunari lined up at the edges of the room didn’t move, although he could tell they were ready to strike at a moment’s notice._

_“Shanedan, Hawke.” Weapon in one hand, the Arishok walked down the steps. “I expected you.” He slung his weapon over his shoulder, saying, “Maraas toh ebra-shok. You alone are basalit-an.”_

_He didn’t get a chance to comment on the strange title, the Arishok snapping at the fearful nobles. “This is what respect looks like, bas! Some of you will never earn it!”_

_It didn’t seem like the nobles wanted respect from the Qunari, but the Arishok didn’t seem in the mood for any kind of witty remark. And, honestly, he wasn’t in the mood to deliver one either._

_“You’ve brought war upon yourselves,” he said, meeting the Arishok’s eyes. “This could have been resolved somewhat peacefully, but ransacking Kirkwall and murdering people threw that out the window.”_

_The Arishok’s lips curled into a sneer, and he brought up that damned book. The book that had gotten them into this mess and that Isabela had run off with. They could have figured something out if she had just been **honest**  with him._

_But he didn’t have a solution to suggest. He understood the bind the Arishok was in, but this reaction was **extreme**. And he said as much, unflinching in the face of the Arishok’s anger._

_Yet Isabela returned, deliberately stepping on the back of the Qunari she had knocked down and shoving the thick tome into the Arishok’s hands before turning to him._

_“This is **your**  fault, you know,” she told him, frowning. “All that talk of friendship and  **trust**. I was halfway to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn around.”_

_“Any regrets?” he asked._

_“Always,” Isabela answered, smiling wryly._

_He thought that would be it – the Tome of Koslun returned to the Qunari – but apparently not. They wanted Isabela as well._

_And…they weren’t getting her._

_“No,” he said flatly, stepping in front of her. “She’ll answer to our laws, not yours.”_

_“Then you leave me no choice. I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will battle to the death with her as the prize.”_

_“No!” Isabela objected. “If you’re going to duel anyone, duel me.”_

_“You are not basalit-an. You are unworthy.”_

_That damned title again. He had no idea what it meant, but it must have been a title of respect._

_He hesitated, half wanting to ask why they couldn’t just take the tome and leave. But knowing the Qunari, the answer would be something to do with respect and needing to uphold their honor._

_If he denied it, they’d probably have another fight here with the nobles in the mix. Or they’d take Isabela._

_And the Arishok had no idea he was a mage. “Fine,” he said shortly. “I accept.”_

_The Arishok cried out a foreign word. “So shall it be!”_

_“Hawke, no!” Anders grabbed hold of his shoulder, pulling him back. “Are you mad?”_

_He softened slightly, looking back at Anders. “It’s fine, Anders.”_

_Anders stepped close, hissing, “They’re all **watching**.”_

_He glanced at the nobles, all of them watching the conversation with fearful and hopeful eyes. “I can handle it. I’ve some tricks up my sleeve.”_

_“If you continue with this, we cannot help you,” Fenris warned._

_“I know.”_

_“You don’t need to risk yourself for **her** ,” Aveline said, barely deigning to give Isabela a look._

_“Yes,” he said simply, “I do.” He looked back at Anders, gripping hold of his arm and lowering it, squeezing it reassuringly. “Do you trust me?”_

_Anders’s eyes pinched. “That’s not the problem.”_

_“Anders.”_

_“Yes,” he snapped. “Fine.”_

_He wanted to reach out and reassure Anders, but this wasn’t the time for it. Giving his friends one last look, he turned back to the Arishok. “Shall we dance, then?” He let a trickle of dark humor leak into his voice, vindictively pleased when the Arishok seemed slightly off-balance by the shift in mood._

_“Get yourself killed,” Isabela muttered to him, “and I’ll never forgive you.”_

_He didn’t answer, focusing on what he needed to do._

_They cleared the floor, the nobles swarming up the steps and to the upper banister. His friends milled on the steps, side-eyeing the Qunari standing there suspiciously._

_His magic buzzed beneath his skin, primed after the numerous fights he’d already been in. Even the usual feel of the Fade wasn’t as off-putting as it normally was._

_The Arishok charged at him the moment the fight started, moving remarkably quickly for someone his size. He dodged just in time, hearing the whistle of those deadly blades slicing through the air._

_Daggers in hand, he spun around, barely nicking the Arishok’s skin before he had to jump backwards._

_This **was**  a dance – a deadly dance – one that he was barely keeping ahead of. Exhaustion dragged at his muscles, the remnants of his earlier fights a stark reminder in the cuts and bruises on his body and the burning in his lungs._

_One of the blades nicked his arm before he could get out of the way, but he barely noticed the stinging cut or the blood that welled up seconds later. He was too busy scrambling for a smoke bomb or two and realizing that he’d used up everything earlier._

_Mentally cursing, he channeled just enough electricity in his daggers to send the Arishok flying backwards into a pillar before he retreated to give himself some breathing space. There were elemental runes inscribed into the blades, so that spell shouldn’t raise any eyebrows._

_He wasn’t a rogue. He wasn’t anywhere near as agile as one, although his reflexes were certainly better than the average person’s. But he didn’t have the same skills, relying more on subterfuge and distraction to get the drop on his opponents._

_There was no distraction here. There were too many eyes on him for to pull out flashier moves that would end this fight quickly, and the Arishok had too thick a skin for his subtler spells to really get a foothold._

_It had been unsettling the first time he’d cast a spell on a Qunari, realizing seconds later that something in their skin resisted magic. Not quite like a dwarf, but something not entirely normal either._

_Sweat dripped into his eyes, lungs burning as he pulled in ragged breaths and tightened his grip on his daggers._

_Not for the first time in his life, he wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew._

_Pulling on his mana, he cast a brief rejuvenation spell that sent a surge of energy through his muscles, eyes on the Arishok and the next move he would make._

_The dance continued in a whirl of blades and quick steps, the Arishok brushing off the wounds he inflicted and him side-stepping razor sharp slashes and at one point somehow managing to springboard off the flat of one blade to leave a dagger embedded in the Arishok’s shoulder blade._

_He couldn’t manage to get it out in time as he touched the ground and rolled into a somersault, coming out at the other end and spinning to see the Arishok snap the hilt off with a brutal twist. The blade was still stuck in his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to care._

_Ordinarily he might have cracked a joke, but he was down one dagger and too breathless to waste the oxygen._

_With a snarl, the Arishok rushed at him again. He managed to dodge again but only just, and his feet didn’t quite follow his instructions. He was on the floor before he realized what happened, and he wasted precious seconds regaining his balance._

_When he looked up again to where the Arishok was, the…world… **slowed**._

_The Arishok was running at him, but far slower than what he had been doing before. He was still far too close, the blades spinning in the air, murder in his gaze._

_He darted back, intending on sidestepping yet again, but suddenly he was airborne, his chest **burning** , and he reached out blindly to grab hold of what seemed to be  **sticking out of his chest**. There might have been screaming, but it didn’t sound like his voice, and magic burned through his skin._

_And then he was on the floor, hitting it at an angle since something was **still in his chest**. He pulled it out before he could think, regretting the action instantly when it sent a surge of fire through his chest, and he was sitting in more blood than had been there before._

_He couldn’t breathe._

_Time seemed to speed up to normal, and there was shouting. There was definitely shouting, cries of alarm and his friends yelling his name._

_His heart was too loud in his head, beating far too slowly and yet too fast at the same time. There was too much blood rushing through his fingers, and surely it wasn’t a good thing to have a hole **in his chest**?_

_Anders couldn’t heal him now. Not without something awful happening, although he was fuzzy on what the awful thing was._

_Bringing to mind the few healing spells he knew, he managed to staunch the worst of the bleeding and mend some of the hole. The burning remained, as did the puddle of blood beneath him when he managed to get to his knees._

_By the time he was back on his feet, the Arishok had also seemed to recover, looking noticeably more frazzled and with visible electrical burns on his skin._

_“What was that?” the Arishok demanded, hefting up the one blade he still had in his possession._

_He couldn’t speak around the blood in his mouth, and swallowing only made it worse._

_“You are **bas-saarebas**?”_

_He dipped his head in acknowledgement, eyes catching on the dagger that he’d dropped in the interim. It was lying right by his feet, but he didn’t think he could reach down to grab it. Not without tearing something open._

_Coughing once, briefly, blood leaking out from his mouth, he winced at how it pulled on the hole in his chest. He glanced back up at the Arishok, seeing him square his shoulders._

_“This changes nothing,” the Arishok snarled._

_Didn’t it?_

_He’d unfortunately already shown his hand. So why even bother hiding it anymore?_

_When the Arishok rushed at him again, he didn’t move. Once the other was close enough, he gathered his mana and **exhaled** , only just remembering in time that other mages used hands._

_The ice froze the Arishok in place, and a second later he followed it up with lightning._

_Ice shattered with the surge of energy, and the Arishok hit the floor._

_But he was still moving, and this was to the **death** , wasn’t it?_

_With one last exhale, he cast a small spell that flickered from his fingers, electricity dancing across the Arishok’s chest and sinking into the skin, frying his heart._

_And he was definitely dead now._

_There were a few moments of stunned silence, and then the Qunari started to move. There was no aggression from them, just acceptance and wariness as they walked around their fallen leader._

_He was still standing, something in him holding fast in the presence of the enemy, refusing to show weakness. But his chest **hurt** , and his heart wasn’t much better, feeling weaker with every beat. More blood seemed to be stuck in his throat, making even breathing difficult, and he wasn’t entirely sure if the shadows he was seeing out of the corner of his eyes were there or not._

_When he was sure the last Qunari had left, and he could see his friends beginning to rush forward, whatever had kept him upright vanished._

_Collapsing was scarcely more painful than having effectively been skewered moments before. Not that he could move, choking on blood as he was._

_Someone rolled him over, and a rush of familiar and soothing magic was the last thing he registered before he let the darkness tug him under._

* * *

When he came back to himself, he was blind.

Or, wait, maybe he wasn’t blind?

But there was nothing to  _see_. It was pitch black about him, and he couldn’t make out a thing.

So he was probably blind.

His eyes were open. Hawke checked that with a hand as he brushed fingers over them. He couldn’t even see those, although it seemed like his eyes were  _trying_  to see his fingers, ghostly afterimages floating across his vision. But a second wave confirmed that it was just his mind playing tricks.

Where the hell was he? Why couldn’t he  _see_? And shouldn’t he be buried under a mound of snow and not wherever he was?

Panic stirring in him, he reached for his magic, only for his head to start spinning when he pulled on the pitiful amount of mana he’d managed to regenerate. He hastily let it go, but his hand lit up in a green glow.

It wasn’t enough that he could see his surroundings, but it reassured him that he hadn’t gone blind. He could see that he was lying on a rocky surface, broken wood strewn around him.

Then the light faded, leaving him back in pitch blackness. He didn’t try to pull it back to life, hand aching faintly from its earlier abuses by Corypheus.

His chest also hurt dully, a consistent throb of pain that served as a constant reminder that he wasn’t okay. He was also  _exhausted_. When he tried reaching for his mana again – more cautiously this time – he found a trickle where there was previously an ocean. It was slowly replenishing itself, but there wasn’t enough for anything beyond maybe a small wisp to light his surroundings up.

Groaning, Hawke tried to push himself to his knees, only to regret it when blinding pain exploded through his left side. He collapsed, a small whimper escaping him at the movement.

Slowly, carefully, he reached down to where the pain was, only to stop when he felt something wooden sticking in his abdomen. He didn’t shift it, only feeling out where it had gone through his armor and embedded itself in his body.

Then he checked his back, relieved to note that it hadn’t gone straight through. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if it had.

There was blood under him now that he was paying attention, most of it still wet. The leather around the wood was also stiff with dried blood, but the wound didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.

It had to come out. He was no healer, but it wasn’t a good thing to have a large stick of wood embedded in his abdomen for a long period of time. Especially if he was going to be moving.

But he had to do it carefully. What was more, did he even have enough mana to seal the injury?

Taking a slow and careful breath, Hawke shifted until he was lying more on his uninjured side, although his ribs protested the change in pressure. He could feel them grating against each other, the sensation nauseating.

He swallowed back the bile, unable to risk throwing up with his current injuries. There was a taste of iron in his mouth, but thankfully nothing fresh.

Taking several breaths to bolster himself, Hawke grit his teeth together, clenched his eyes shut, and pulled the wooden bolt straight out. It burned as it came out, abdomen feeling like it was on fire.

Hawke choked back a cry, quickly letting the wood drop and pressing his hands to the hole in his body. Blood was seeping out of it, far more quickly than was good.

Healing,  _healing_ , he could heal himself—

Recalling the lessons Anders had given him, Hawke focused on mending broken blood vessels first, then closing what he could of the wound. It staunched most of the blood flow, but the wound was still open, even though he’d tried to seal it shut.

Biting his lip, Hawke opened his eyes, useless as the gesture was. He kept his hands pressed to the wound, still feeling a small pulse of blood gush from it despite the spell he’d cast.

There was no way he could travel anywhere with an open wound, even if he stopped bleeding. The risk of tearing it open again was too great, and he had no idea if any of his internal organs had been ripped apart by the wood.

A sharp taste of iron flooded his mouth, and he coughed before he could stop it, feeling warm liquid leak from his mouth.

 _Shit_.

The decision made for him, Hawke closed his eyes again, pulled on the last of his mana, and cauterized the wound with a burst of hot fire.

He might have screamed, but he passed out before he could register anything else.

* * *

When Hawke drifted back to consciousness next time, he was a little more alert than he’d been before. But only slightly.

His left hand was glowing like his own personal light, and he couldn’t get it to stop. It wasn’t just the mark that glowed – his entire hand having joined the party – but sparks of green magic erupted from it occasionally.

His limbs felt like wet noodles, and his head swam if he tried to move too much. He was also incredibly thirsty, throat feeling like a desert.

A result of blood loss, wasn’t it?

Reminded of his wound, Hawke reached down to press against his abdomen, relieved when there was no fresh blood but just inflamed skin that protested violently at the gentle touch. Hopefully he wasn’t bleeding internally, but the area around the wound didn’t seem to be any worse for the wear.

Taking in a long breath, Hawke slowly rolled to his stomach, getting his knees underneath him. They shook as he put his weight on them, threatening to give out on him.

There was still far too little mana at his disposal, but there was enough that he could call into being a small light to illuminate his surroundings. His breath shuddered at the dip in energy, but he was able to blink past the spots in his vision to take in the cave that he had somehow fallen into.

And it was a cave, the walls and ground rough rock with some stalactites scattered about the ceiling. When he looked, he thought he could see where he might have fallen through, but there was no light coming.

There wouldn’t be, not if the opening was buried under snow.

Breathing in again, Hawke managed to get to his feet, staggering forward slightly as his head swam dangerously, almost sending him back to the ground.

He probably wouldn’t be able to get up again. Lying down and remaining still was looking to be a very appealing option. Except that he was alive and was planning on staying that way.

Scanning his surroundings, Hawke noted that there was a passageway out of the cave he’d fallen into. Maybe it was manmade – this could be part of the network of tunnels Anders had been talking about.

Wrapping his right arm around his midriff and keeping it pressed against his cauterized wound in case he needed to suddenly put pressure on it, Hawke began to walk. It was shuffles at first, but soon he managed to lengthen his stride, keeping the motions slow and easy to make it easier on his broken ribs.

He didn’t have the energy to spare to try another healing spell, and he didn’t want to pass out again.

But it was hideously painful, every muscle in his body screaming with the effort it took to keep moving forward. And although cauterized, the wound in his abdomen continued to throb dully, with a particularly sharp stab every now and then that had him worrying about internal tears.

It wasn’t like he could  _do_  anything about it, though. He was shit at healing even if he did realize he was bleeding internally.

Despite his resolution to keep moving, there were points where Hawke had to take a breather, leaning against the cold walls. He knew that if he sat down, he wouldn’t be able to get back up.

His left hand was still glowing, but it wasn’t painful. It felt for the most part insubstantial, like it wasn’t quite attached to his arm. He could still feel it and wiggle his fingers, but that odd feeling persisted.

Leaving the mark – Anchor? – alone, Hawke pushed on, ignoring the aches and pains of his body the best he could.

The cave system he was in was thankfully relatively straightforward to traverse. He didn’t know what he would have done if the tunnels had forked or if there any cave-ins to work around. Probably sat down and cried.

Varric would have ignored that and claimed Hawke had head butt the obstacle into submission.

Smiling to himself at the thought, Hawke continued moving, the small light he’d conjured a welcome companion in the dark. It was bright enough that he could see several feet before him, but other than that his surroundings were pitch black.

He was grateful he wasn’t claustrophobic, but it was frightening being lost in the nothingness. If the light went out…

Shaking his head, Hawke pushed that thought back. It wouldn’t happen unless he passed out or his mana depleted entirely, and at the moment he still had some mana left. Even if it wasn’t replenishing as fast as he would like.

Or at all.

There were some points where Hawke slid down some steep inclines, almost falling over but barely managing to keep on his feet. Other times he had to pull himself up a wall.

Each time he came a little closer to passing out or just giving up altogether.

But he persisted.

Anders was out there. As was Varric. He couldn’t just leave them thinking he was  _dead_.

Eventually the tunnel started looking a little more like it was partly manmade. The walls were occasionally just a bit too smooth, and there were spots where torches might have been at one point.

There was also beginning to be more natural light. He was no longer walking in pitch darkness, but he kept his light going just to be safe.

And then Hawke reached a bridge – an actual  _bridge_. He could have cried.

There was a visible exit, too, and he let his magical light dissipate, breathing out in relief as the minor strain of keeping it going dissipated.

He would have moved across the bridge if it wasn’t for the demons that were floating about at the other end. Two despair demons, and neither seemed to have noticed his presence.

Just as well, because Hawke was practically defenseless. He had nothing on his person that he could use, and his magic was a no-go because he didn’t have enough mana to do anything beyond possibly killing a fly.

Or maybe burning one. He wasn’t entirely sure on that.

What could he do to take care of them?

Hesitating, Hawke evaluated his surroundings. There was no place for him to hide beyond where he was standing right now. There was also nothing he could use as a weapon beyond the cave itself, and he didn’t have the energy or desire to bring everything down on his head.

That would defeat the point of getting this far.

But he had absolutely no options—

The mark on his hand pulsed, a familiar sensation that he’d become inured to, yet he stilled at the reminder.

Ah…well…that  _was_  an option, wasn’t it?

And it didn’t use any of his mana, just required intense focus. And he could focus enough for this.

Bracing himself on the wall beside him, Hawke raised his left hand, breathing in as he focused.

For some reason, it was a great deal easier to feel the Fade around him, along with weak spots that he could exploit. There was one right where the despair demons were floating, and all he had to do was  _pull_ —

Green light exploded where the demons were. There were twin shrieks, and the demons disappeared into wisps of smoke.

Once assured that they were gone, Hawke curled his fingers in and sealed the rift he’d opened, relieved when it closed without fuss. His head swam a little with the effort he’d just exerted, but his mana was untouched and he was still on his feet.

Best of all, there were no more demons.

Cautiously moving forward, Hawke crossed the small bridge and headed towards the exit. The air was bitterly cold here, but it was far fresher than anything he’d been breathing for the past so many hours.

The light was blinding outside, and it took Hawke’s eyes a little time to adjust after spending so long in darkness. When they did, his breath stalled in his chest, shoulders hunching down against a cruel gust of icy wind.

There was nothing but white around him, snow stretching for miles and miles. No sign of footsteps, no sign of civilization, no sign of anything he could use to guide himself to where the Inquisition had gone to.

The sky was ominously cloudy when Hawke turned his face up. It felt like a storm was brewing, even if one had probably already passed while he was navigating the tunnels.

At least it wasn’t nighttime.

Bracing himself against another icy gust, Hawke shivered at the sensation of the cold nipping through his clothes. But there was water here, so he gingerly bent over to scoop up a small handful of snow, using a minute amount of magic to warm it before wetting his mouth.

He could spare some mana to make sure he didn’t die of thirst.

Once his thirst had abated somewhat, Hawke stepped down into the snow, only to find that it nearly went up to his knees.

This…wasn’t going to be pretty.

* * *

An undetermined amount of time later, probably some more hours in all honesty, Hawke was shivering nonstop, teeth chattering violently. He’d almost bitten through his tongue several times.

He tried warming himself up, but it was difficult keeping the focus he needed to wind his magic around him, and his mana ran out too quickly for him to be able to keep it up. It wasn’t exactly a “spell” in the strictest sense, but spell or not, it still required mana he didn’t have.

It was snowing now, albeit not harshly. He could still see, and it was more like a gentle rainfall that kissed his skin than an actual blizzard. But the occasional gusts of wind were nothing to sniff at, some nearly bowling him over into the snow.

He couldn’t feel his feet by now. Or his hands. His face, too, for that matter. He kept reaching up to be sure he still had a nose, but his fingers weren’t receiving much sensation.

The ache in his side had ascended to a sharp throb, accompanying the sickening grinding of his broken ribs. There was definitely blood in his mouth now. He was probably bleeding internally, but he didn’t have the focus to ascertain how badly and where.

His lungs weren’t punctured, so he was going to count that as lucky.

He was probably also going in the right direction. He’d almost headed the other way, but something had seemed to tug at his left hand, pulling him in the direction he was headed now.

It hadn’t felt malevolent, so Hawke had followed it.

Only there was still nothing around him. Just trees, untouched snow, and mountains in the distance. If there was any sign of the Inquisition having gone this way, it was all buried, and he wasn’t going to go rooting around for it.

Just lifting his feet high enough to take the next step was taking all his energy.

Stopping briefly to catch his breath, Hawke lifted a hand to his mouth, breathing out just enough warmth to make his skin burn with the sudden heat. He pressed the warmth to his face, the sensation reassuring for the few seconds it lasted.

His side ached, a reminder that he couldn’t stop for long.

Dropping his hand, Hawke continued walking, somehow managing to muster enough energy to keep clearing the snow and put his foot down.

He didn’t count the steps, only telling himself  _just one more_.

Which worked, up until he didn’t lift his foot high enough and the toe of his boot caught on the snow. He stumbled, nearly face-planting in the snow but managing to keep his balance.

The ache in his side magnified exponentially at the jolt, a sharp stabbing pain that indicated something had definitely torn.

Hawke wavered, hand clamping down reflexively on his side, but there was no visible wound for him to staunch.

He was still on his feet—

A brutal gust of wind blew past him, knocking him entirely off balance and face first into the snow.

Stunned at what had just happened, Hawke didn’t move, breathing in icy cold snow and feeling his skin burn at the contact. Eventually he managed to move his head to breathe in air, absently realizing he couldn’t feel his skin anymore.

He was also beginning to feel faintly warm.

Something told him this was a bad thing, but the rest of him was so damn  _tired_. Maybe he could just lie here for a little while and rest…

There was a sharp tug at his left hand, like someone had taken hold of it and begun pulling.

When Hawke didn’t respond, the tug became stronger, more insistent. It was like someone telling him to  _get up already_  and  _don’t give up now_.

He shifted slightly, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand. He’d stopped shivering entirely, and that wasn’t—

The tugging disappeared, but then something seemed to grip hold of his shoulders and pull him upright. The rough movement jostled his broken ribs, and he inhaled reflexively, only to regret it when his ribs protested even more.

And then he started coughing, iron in his mouth and  _this wasn’t helping his ribs—_

It seemed to take an age for him to get the coughing under control, and by then his chest was burning and his side wasn’t much better. He was surprised he could even feel anything with how numb he was from the cold.

Something tugged at his hand again, and Hawke lifted his gaze to see who it was, only to see absolutely nothing. But something flickered at the corner of his eye, something that vanished when he tried to look at it head-on.

 _Let’s go._  It seemed like there was a whisper on the wind, but it was probably his imagination.

He couldn’t tell if it was malevolent or not. He was too tired to focus his senses on it and ascertain whether it was a spirit or a demon.

But the grip on his hand was reassuring, and it was beginning to pull him along. Or trying to. Hawke took one step and then fell on his face again, unable to lift his foot high enough.

This time he didn’t move at all, resigned to his fate to freeze to death in the middle of nowhere.

_Let me in._

Hawke’s response was instinctive, ingrained in him from years of teachings from his father. He recoiled from the words that floated through his mind, his  _no_  loud even though he hadn’t verbalized it.

_I can help shoulder this._

He wasn’t going to be the host to a demon.

The voice didn’t come again, but a blanket of warmth seemed to settle over him, coiling over his body but not sinking into his skin. But he could taste and smell nothing but the Fade, and his skin prickled the way it did when Justice emerged.

His limbs moved without any conscious thought, and he was on his feet in no time. Something still pulled on his hand, but it was secondary compared to whatever was driving his body.

 _I mean no harm._  The voice wasn’t entirely reassuring, but the presence wasn’t trying to sink into Hawke’s skin, only guiding his movements.

Not that there was anything he could do about it, anyway. He was nigh useless at this point, and if whatever was doing this was going to lead him over a cliff it would probably be better than freezing to death.

_We want to help._

“We”?

The tugging at his hand sharpened, as if reminding him that something was still pulling him along.

Well,  _okay_ , but he hadn’t gotten this far by listening to any random voice that said they were on his side. If that were true, then he would have been an abomination several times over from all the demons that tried that in his dreams.

It began to snow more heavily, the wind picking up in speed.

But Hawke barely felt it through the blanket of Fade that covered his body.

Given that he didn’t have to put any effort into walking, he kept drifting in and out, exhaustion dragging at his mind. The taste of iron was constant in his mouth, but he wasn’t sure if there was actually blood or if it was all in his mind.

Eventually, what seemed like an eternity later, the ground began to slope upwards. He turned his head up, squinting through the falling snow and wind to see that he’d finally reached the mountain range that he had been walking towards.

The snow was also deeper here, beginning to go up past his knees. But the spirit was unflagging even if his muscles were past the point of screaming at him and were just numb, lifting his feet high enough to clear the snow with every step and then putting it down.

And repeat.

Hawke pulled in one ragged breath after another, chest burning with the effort. By now he was inured to the taste of the Fade, but he just couldn’t get enough oxygen in.

His mana hadn’t recovered at all, and it felt like his right arm had turned into stone where he had it clamped around his abdomen.

The next whisper was almost missed – it was so quiet.  _A little further, brother_.

Hawke didn’t have the energy to startle or be suspicious. He wasn’t a spirit…was he?

It was getting difficult to tell. He certainly felt rather insubstantial, if it weren’t for how exhaustion plagued his every step.

He couldn’t even drift off, although he was certainly exhausted enough to try.

The ground seemed to be at an almost vertical tilt, but he was still moving up. Maybe it wasn’t actually vertical; it only felt that way to his legs.

The spirit tugging at his hand let go as they bypassed something metallic poking out of the snow. It was too buried for him to be able to make out what it was, and the other spirit didn’t stop to make time either.

There was an opening between two cliff faces, and he almost thought he could see something like a glow on the other side.

For the first time since the spirit had enveloped his body, he stumbled, foot catching on a snowdrift. He didn’t pitch into the snow, but it was a near miss.

“Fuck,” he mouthed, lacking the air to vocalize anything more.

The sense of the Fade about him was fading, like the spirit guiding him was also beginning to retreat. But it tugged him along just a little further, getting him to the center of the pass.

From there it was steadily downhill, and Hawke would almost rather he just roll down. But considering the snow, it was more likely he’d just fall into it and not go anywhere.

But there was a definite glow below him, and he could make out the shapes of tents.

There weren’t any sentries posted up here, which he thought was a rather bad idea but maybe there was a reason for that?

His legs kept moving him downhill (down-mountain? That wasn’t a word, was it?) but he was stumbling more often than not now, the sense of the Fade disappearing rapidly. The spirit was losing its grip on him, either because of its own exhaustion or something else.

 _Have faith_.

And the spirit vanished entirely, leaving Hawke  _cold_  and alone.

He was still up on his feet, but the moment he felt the last of the spirit’s energy disappear, the last of his own vanished, legs buckling.

There was shouting in the distance, but Hawke couldn’t make out the words.

Somehow he was face down in the snow – when had he fallen?

The shouting was closer, but it still felt infinitely far away.

Even breathing was too much effort at this point, and staying awake was another feat in itself.

And he was safe now, wasn’t he?

From one breath to the next, Hawke let go.

* * *

_His chest **hurt**._

_That was the first thing that he registered as he became more aware of his limbs._

_The second was that his mouth was really dry. The third was that he wasn’t alone. Anders was there, but there were other voices as well._

_Varric?_

_Opening his eyes was a struggle, but he managed. He found himself looking up at the familiar ceiling of his bedroom._

_A fire crackled in the grate, heating the room up to a soothing warmth. The curtains over the windows were drawn closed, so he couldn’t tell if it was day or night._

_That Anders was awake and scribbling away at his desk wasn’t helpful, since he kept odd hours anyway._

_He tried to sit up, only to wince when his chest protested at the movement. It was a deep throb that went all the way through, and he found it difficult to breathe as the pain pulsed through him._

_He slumped back into the pillows, blinking rapidly as his eyes watered. It took several moments before the pain subsided enough that he could breathe, and by then the voices he’d heard earlier were clearer._

_“Why won’t you let me see him?”_

_“I don’t know, Junior, maybe it’s because Blondie would probably stab me with a fork? Maybe it’s because he’d stab **you**  with a feather and actually make it painful? Or maybe it’s because I don’t think it’s a good idea either! Take your pick.”_

_“I’m his **brother** —”_

_“And my brother locked us in the Deep Roads to die. Family isn’t everything, Junior, and you pulled something really shitty.”_

_“I…” There was silence from Carver. Then, “But how is he?”_

_“Still not awake. …Look, I can send a message when he’s up, all right? That’s all I can promise. Now, I think you should leave. You know how Blondie gets.”_

_Carver didn’t speak again, but he could just picture his brother marching off petulantly. Or guiltily? He hadn’t heard Carver sound like that before._

_Actually **worried**._

_He craned his head to see Anders sitting at the desk, head in his hands now. He wasn’t writing anymore, and his entire posture screamed exhaustion._

_It took a moment for him to get enough moisture in his mouth to try saying something. Only his voice cracked before he could get the first syllable out and his attempt at Anders’s name died a horrible death._

_But Anders heard his pitiful attempt. He jolted up, knees knocking on the underside of the desk in a way that sounded incredibly painful. “Hawke!”_

_He swallowed, not quite able to get his voice to manage anything coherent as Anders rushed over._

_“You’re awake! How are you feeling?” Anders shook his head before he could respond. “No, wait. You’ll need water.”_

_Anders reached over to the side, coming back with a small cup that presumably held water._

_Several sips later, he found it much easier to speak. “Chest hurts.”_

_Anders’s smile was pained. “That’s what happens when you’re nearly impaled through the heart, love.” He pressed a hand to where the Arishok’s weapon had pierced through, healing magic flaring. “I did as much as I could, but it needs to heal on its own.”_

_“What – no fancy healing?”_

_“I **did**  the fancy healing,” Anders said, reaching up with his other hand to stroke strands of hair out of his face, his touch soothing. “It’s why you’re here and not—” He broke off, mouth twisting. A few seconds later, he continued in a lighter tone that sounded horrifically fake, “Well, you’re here. And you’ll be fine. So long as you don’t push it.”_

_He stared up at Anders, sure he was forgetting something in the midst of the exhaustion and pain that still clouded his mind. The last thing he remembered was facing down the Arishok. Anything after that was a bit of a blur aside from having effectively been skewered like a piece of meat._

_“Isabela?” he managed. “Is she…?”_

_“Alive,” Anders said, face shuttering. “Aside from that, I don’t know. She said she had business to take care of. I didn’t care to ask because I was a little more concerned with keeping you alive.” He bit out the last few words, mouth snapping shut once he was finished. He closed his eyes, dropping his head, forehead creasing in what looked like pain._

_When Anders didn’t continue, his breaths far too carefully controlled, he reached up to touch the creases on Anders’s forehead, smoothing them out with a thumb. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”_

_Anders pulled in a shaky breath, sagging slightly. “I know.” The words were a whisper. “But it did.” His smile was pained but there. “They’re calling you Champion now. The Champion of Kirkwall.”_

_“That’s…quite the title?”_

_“It is.” Anders glanced over his shoulder. “Varric will be miffed I told you first. He was hoping to see your face.”_

_“I can act surprised.”_

_“Please do. I’m not sure I’ll like what he’ll try to pull otherwise.” Anders paused, looking down at where he was still pushing healing magic into his chest. “How is it feeling now?”_

_His breathing was coming more easily now, so he said, “Better.”_

_Nodding, Anders withdrew the hand, only to bring it up to brush back a few more strands of hair that had fallen into his face. “You need a haircut, love.”_

_He smiled up at Anders, stretching to tug at Anders’s own hair, which had come loose from its usual ponytail. “So do you.”_

_Anders’s lips curled into a sweet smile. “Once your hands stop shaking, you can trim it. Right now I wouldn’t trust you with a spoon.”_

_“Fair,” he said. “I wouldn’t either. You’ll do mine?”_

_Anders’s fingers stroked a soothing line of warmth across his hairline. “Of course, love. I look forward to it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers might have noticed relations seem a little tense between Hawke and Carver in Kirkwall (and Anders and Carver). Why this is will be revealed in a few chapters.
> 
> There's going to be some downtime now before the next big event! We do have to get to Skyhold after all.
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	13. The Frostback Mountains II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the last few cliffhangers...I am very pleased to announce that this one is _not_ a cliffhanger! Aren't you glad? :P
> 
> Anyway, this is the time for Hawke to face up to his actions in Haven. Along with nice snuggles. owo

_Varric never seemed to realize that Anders had broken the news of the whole “Champion of Kirkwall” thing before he could. It was probably because he wasn’t able to muster anything other than a numb dread once Varric did tell him, the news not having sunk in yet._

_He had no idea what it meant to be Champion, other than it was apparently a **very**  lofty title. One that sort of gave him immunity from the whole “being an apostate” thing._

_And also Anders and Merrill by extension as well._

_It was the only good thing about now being openly known as a mage. He didn’t have to panic as much about templars finding Anders’s clinic in Darktown and bringing him in. Or templars running across Merrill in the Alienage or elsewhere in Kirkwall and doing the same._

_Because everything else was a disaster._

_Yes, the nobles were the only ones to have seen what he could do. And even then – somehow – he’d managed to remember that his usual tricks weren’t what all mages could pull. But word of what he’d done had spread, and everyone in Kirkwall either watched him with respect, wariness, or eyed him like he might explode any moment._

_And then he had to carry a blasted **staff**  around. Supposedly it made the citizens of Kirkwall feel safer to see it right there that he was a mage._

_It made his skin **crawl**  to be so obvious, not that it hadn’t already been crawling enough given the sickening miasma of the Fade in Kirkwall. It was one thing he hadn’t grown used to even though he’d been here several years by now._

_He didn’t want to get used to it either, but it would be easier if he wasn’t constantly surrounded by it. Surrounded by the sick feeling that everything was **wrong**. Even his own magic tasted wrong, and it made him cringe every time he had to use a spell and touch and manipulate this Fade to his will._

_But there **was**  a bright spot. And he had to keep reminding himself of that._

_He could keep Anders so much safer this way. Anders and Merrill and every other mage in the Gallows._

_All it required was gritting his teeth and bearing it. And wasn’t that something he could do?_

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was his breathing. It didn’t hurt anymore, his lungs expanding with every inhale without any sign of pain.

The second thing was that he was lying on something that would very much have liked to be soft but was failing. But his head was propped up, which was the only thing saving him from an awful crick in his neck.

The third was that someone was holding his hand, the sensation familiar and comforting.

Hawke opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. There was gray cloth over his head, propped up by wooden beams like the ones he’d seen in Leliana’s large tent in Haven.

“You’re awake.”

Jolting slightly in surprise, Hawke turned his head to see Fiona sitting on a stool by the tent flap. She stood once she saw he was looking.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

Hawke evaluated his current state, one hand coming up to press against where the wood had pierced him. He was stiff, but only in that way that meant he’d undergone serious healing not long ago. There wasn’t any pain, and his mana was actually almost back to normal levels now.

“Fine,” he said eventually. He dropped his gaze to where someone was holding his right hand, relieved to see Anders sleeping with his head on Hawke’s cot. It didn’t look very comfortable, but he also looked exhausted.

A small blanket of magic briefly settled over him, the feel unfamiliar and startling until he heard Fiona say, “For once a patient is right.”

“Hey,” Hawke said, affronted.

Fiona just smiled, visibly amused. Then it vanished, her face sobering. “You were fortunate,” she said quietly. “Half-dead from frostbite and internal bleeding. How you aren’t dead…” She shook her head. “It was close, and I warned Anders you might not make it. But you’re awake now and out of the worst of it.”

“You could be a little more excited,” Hawke said.

“I’m ecstatic,” Fiona said, sounding anything but. She paused, dropping her chin. “Forgive me, Champion. It has been a trying few days.”

Hawke blinked at the use of his title, not sure why he was surprised at the fact that people knew who he was now. But  _days_? “How long was I out?”

“You were missing for a day,” Fiona said. “And it has been another two days since we found you.” She gave a small smile. “I’m certain the camp will be in a more joyful mood once I let them know you are awake.”

Hawke nodded, making as if to sit up before Fiona put a hand to his shoulder.

“Not just yet,” she said, giving him a sharp look that was probably innate to all healers. “You still need to rest, and Anders would be put out with me if I let you up without speaking with him first.”

“Yes,” Hawke said after a moment, “he would be.”

Fiona paused before leaving the tent, looking back at Hawke. “And, Champion? Thank you.” She left before Hawke could formulate anything, the flap closing behind her.

Hawke stared after her for a few seconds before shaking his head and turning to Anders. Slowly, he turned more on his side. There weren’t any twinges of pain, but he felt stiffer than usual. Someone had changed his shirt, and he was wearing something white and utterly shapeless that did nothing for protection but at least didn’t constrict.

Bringing his other hand up, Hawke froze briefly upon realizing that it wasn’t glowing anymore. It had been glowing nonstop in the tunnels and on the journey here, but now it was quiet.

His hand felt normal, though. Or at least what passed for normal now. Relatively normal?

He thought the persistent buzzing of the Fade was a little louder than it had been before, but it was difficult to tell.

Exhaling softly, Hawke let his hand drop, brushing back some strands of hair that had fallen into Anders’s face, fingers gentle tracing his temple. The mark pulsed softly with the contact, and white light broke through Anders’s skin, the taste of the Fade bursting on Hawke’s tongue and the scent in his nose.

It was strange how he’d gotten used to that reaction, the sight no longer startling or disconcerting.

But Anders moved, his other hand coming up to grab hold of Hawke’s, eyes opening. “You’re awake.” It was Justice speaking, not Anders. The eyes were white light, not warm brown.

“Justice,” Hawke breathed, fingers flexing in Justice’s grip.

“Hawke.” Justice sat up. He was frowning, and something about his presence seemed angry.

Which wasn’t entirely unusual given that when Justice came out he was usually angry, but Hawke realized Justice was angry at  _him_. “You’re upset,” he eventually said, voice neutral.

“Yes,” Justice answered bluntly. His frown deepened, mouth turning down. “You sent us away.”

“Justice—”

“You sent us away,” Justice repeated, the grip on Hawke’s left hand tightening. “You stayed behind, sacrificing yourself—”

“I’d say I’m pretty alive for a sacrifice—”

“ _Do not_  make light of this,” Justice snapped. “You told us nothing of your plans. Did you think we would find that acceptable?”

Hawke blinked up at him, heart beating too fast in his chest. “It was Corypheus,” he said when Justice didn’t say anything else. “I couldn’t risk it, not after what happened last time.”

“It would not have happened again,” Justice said flatly.

“You know what effect he has on Grey Wardens—”

“Anders may hear the song,” Justice said, his tone foreboding, “but the hold Corypheus has is not as great as you fear. Not anymore.”

“And put you in danger like that?” Hawke swallowed thickly. “Justice, I  _couldn’t_ —”

“That was our choice, wasn’t it?” Justice tilted his head, his anger seeming to soften. “It’s our choice to fight with you, but you took it away. And there was nothing we could do.”

Hawke said nothing for a long moment, mouth dry as ashes. Then, finally, he managed, “I’m sorry, but not sorry enough that I wouldn’t do it again.”

Justice dipped his chin, frowning slightly. “Do you not trust me?” He sounded hurt. “Do you think I would let Anders fall so easily?”

“You remember what happened last time, don’t you?” Justice had been so  _furious_ , so unlike  _Justice_ , that Hawke didn’t even know if it  _had_ really been the spirit.

“Things have changed since then,” Justice said, though he didn’t elaborate. “As I have said, he no longer has that hold over us.”

“Do you think I wanted to chance that? I couldn’t, Justice.” Hawke made to sit up, but Justice held him down, shaking his head once.

“You care too much,” Justice said after a moment, eyes closing on an exhale. “But that is what drew us to you.”

Hawke looked up at him, the skin on his chest tingling where Justice was still holding him down. “‘Us’?” he couldn’t resist asking.

Justice opened his eyes, a small smile flickering on his lips, before the light faded and it was Anders sitting besides Hawke.

Anders slumped forward, almost toppling over before catching himself. His grip on Hawke’s hand tightened, and he glanced up, meeting Hawke’s gaze.

Relief crossed his face, and he dropped his head. “Thank the Maker, you’re awake.” He looked over to the tent flap. “Where’s Fiona? She was supposed to wake me.”

“Letting the others know,” Hawke said, reaching up to take hold of the hand Anders had on his chest. Light flickered between their hands at the contact, but he ignored it. “Are you—”

“You’re fine,” Anders said, his magic settling over Hawke like a blanket. He sounded relieved and exhausted in equal measures. “You’re going to be fine.”

Hawke blinked up at him, not flinching as Anders moved to press a hand to where Hawke had cauterized his wound. “Yes?”

“You’ve no idea how angry I am with you,” Anders said shortly, fixing Hawke with a sharp glare. He paused, then added, “ _Both_  of us. What were you  _thinking_?”

“I didn’t want you near Corypheus,” Hawke said.

“You should have told me!” Anders pulled away from Hawke, stepping back from the cot he was lying on. “I had to find out from _Varric_  and too far away from Haven to do any good!”

“I’m glad—”

“ _You almost died_!”

Hawke’s mouth snapped shut at Anders’s shout, guilt rising in his chest at the choked grief in the other’s voice.

Anders dropped his head, hands coming up to hide his face. His shoulders were trembling. “You almost died,” he repeated in a quieter voice. “You were bleeding out. You had multiple rib fractures. You were nearly dead of cold. You had  _no mana left_. How you were even still _alive_  is a miracle.”

Anders was shaking, knuckles white where he was gripping his hair and breaths coming far too fast to be healthy.

Hawke sprang up, briefly regretting the action when the world swam around him. But Anders was right there, and he reached out to grasp hold of him.

“Anders, it’s okay.” He kept his voice low, calming. “I’m fine. You said it yourself.”

Anders resisted being drawn into a hug, but he didn’t withdraw from Hawke’s touch. “You were almost  _dead_.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m still furious with you.”

“I know.”

Anders crumpled, falling forward into Hawke, his grip bruising as he wrapped his arms around him. “But I’m so glad you’re alive. Maker’s breath,  _Hawke_.”

Hawke said nothing, pressing his lips to the side of Anders’s head and breathing in, closing his eyes as he did. Anders smelled mostly like he hadn’t had a bath in two days but the scent was familiar enough that Hawke was comforted rather than disgusted.

“I still haven’t forgiven you,” Anders mumbled long moments later, face pressed into Hawke’s shoulder.

“All right,” Hawke said amiably, rubbing a hand over Anders’s back.

Anders pulled away, glaring at Hawke. “You’d do it again, wouldn’t you?” he accused.

Hawke shrugged shamelessly, but his smile was slightly sheepish. “Yes?”

Anders’s mouth turned down, and he shook his head, pushing Hawke back. “I don’t even know why I bother with you.”

“Because you love me,” Hawke suggested.

“I must be mad,” Anders said, “but I do. And you’re not supposed to be on your feet yet.”

“I’m fine,” Hawke said, but he did sit down on the cot. “You said so yourself.”

“Need I remind you that you almost died?” Anders’s grip tightened briefly on Hawke’s shoulder. “I don’t even know how you’re still here.”

“My partner is an incredibly talented spirit healer.”

“No.” Anders closed his eyes, shaking his head. “You don’t get it. You shouldn’t have been able to walk the distance you did. Not with your ribs in that state, not while bleeding out  _on the inside_ , and  _not_  while almost  _frozen_.”

Hawke reached up to wrap his fingers around Anders’s wrist in a loose hold. He couldn’t remember much of that freezing trek, only that he hadn’t really been  _alone_ , had he? “I think there was a spirit,” he said eventually.

“I know,” Anders said. “It went to Cole, who came to me, and then we found you. But you – you should’ve still—” He broke off, shaking his head more violently this time. “Humor me,” he whispered, bringing the hand on Hawke’s shoulder up to his face, thumb tracing over Hawke’s cheek.

Hawke leaned into Anders’s touch, eyes closing instinctively at the reassuring contact. It didn’t mean forgiveness, but it was enough to know that Anders was there. “I can be humorous,” he murmured eventually, opening his eyes to look up at Anders. “Promise.”

The corner of Anders’s mouth ticked up at Hawke’s poor joke. “Good. Besides, staying in here means you don’t need to face the others just yet.”

“Well,” Hawke said, “in that case, I’ll make this my new base of operations.”

“Rather small, isn’t it?”

Shrugging, Hawke grinned up at Anders. “It has what I need.”

Anders’s cheeks grew slightly pink, and he ducked his head. “Sweet talking me like that isn’t going to get you forgiveness.”

Hawke shrugged again, continuing to grin up at Anders. “Just being honest.”

Then, before Anders could react, he pulled him down to kiss him. The cot wasn’t quite designed for two adult men, but he was reasonably sure he could figure something out.

* * *

Some time later, the cot hadn’t yet collapsed and Anders was asleep, snoring gently into Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke had dozed a little, but he found it too difficult to fall asleep considering the raised voices outside.

He’d tried to not pay attention to what was going on, but it was getting increasingly difficult since they weren’t making an effort at hiding it. From what he’d been able to gather, they were arguing about the next steps to take since Haven was currently buried under a bunch of snow, the Chantry hated them, and Corypheus was on the prowl.

Maybe not the last bit, but it was definitely insinuated by Cullen insistently pointing out that they couldn’t withstand another attack.

Sighing, Hawke pressed a hand to his forehead, focusing on the pressure and taking several slow breaths. Then, slowly and carefully, he began the process of extricating himself from Anders without waking him up.

There was more twisting than he would have liked, but Hawke managed it eventually. He was far stiffer than usual, and lifting the shapeless mass of a shirt he was now wearing revealed a new scar on his side. It wasn’t as bad as he expected, but it was definitely pinker than the surrounding skin and felt raw to the touch.

It wasn’t  _painful_. Just…he probably shouldn’t try any insane acrobatics anytime soon.

Letting the shirt drop, Hawke picked up the cloak Anders had left draped over the stool he had been sitting on, pulling it on. He spared a moment to breathe in Anders’s scent before shaking his head and turning to the tent flap.

It was brighter than he’d been expecting, and a lot colder as well. He shivered once, then exhaled warmth and let it linger about him. Maybe Anders would side-eye him for the waste, but Hawke had enough mana for it.

The squabbling advisors didn’t immediately notice his presence, so Hawke took the moment to evaluate the camp that they’d set up.

There were campfires strategically set up around the area, although they were pitifully small and crackling weakly. More people seemed to be huddled around torches, since they provided far more light. All of them were carefully ignoring the argument taking place in the open.

Mountains towered over their heads, white peaks offset against a blue sky. Lower down, Hawke could see the pass that he’d stumbled through. On the opposite side, the valley they were in stretched out into the distance, where more mountains rose to the heavens.

It was beautiful.

It was also in the middle of nowhere.

So Hawke could kind of see the problem if the Inquisition was here and they were supposed to be some kind of peacekeeping/military organization. No one would find them here.

Which was good if that was Corypheus and not so good if people needed help.

Sighing, Hawke looked back at the others, who were still quarreling, this time over whether they should scout Haven.

Hawke thought this was a ridiculous idea considering Haven was buried and he’d almost killed himself to ensure that was the case. And he said as much.

It was funny how they all just stopped dead and turned to look at him, wearing different expressions of surprise, wariness, and intrigue. Cassandra’s face was such a mix of emotions that Hawke couldn’t even begin to figure out where to start.

Cullen was first to speak, the wariness in his voice matching his expression. “Champion.”

Hawke kept his face blank, shrugging. “Not sure how much of a ‘Champion’ I am at this point, Commander.” He shifted his weight, folding his arms over his chest. “But you can stop looking at me like I’m going to bite you. You don’t look that appetizing.”

“Hawke.” Cassandra sounded torn between anger and something that sounded like admiration. She didn’t say anything else for a moment, seeming to struggle. Then, slowly, “It is good to see you awake.”

“Should you be up?” Josephine asked, worried.

Hawke glanced around for Fiona, didn’t see her, and put a finger to his lips. “Anders is asleep. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“You shouldn’t be up?”

“I’m fine.” Hawke kept his stance relaxed, ignoring the skepticism on Josephine’s face. “Bit difficult to sleep with everyone trying their best to cause another avalanche.”

“Everyone is loud,” Cole’s voice said from beside him, startling the others badly. Hawke had managed to sense him several moments before, so he was able to turn and give the spirit a casual look. Cole looked back, gaze even. “They’re scared, but you give them hope. ‘The Champion will lead us out.’”

Hawke didn’t really know what to say to that, but his brow furrowed before he could stop it. He hadn’t led  _anyone_  out. And he couldn’t either.

“Yes,” Cullen said after an awkward moment, “I suppose we were.” He shot a guilty look to the people around them, who were still mostly pretending to ignore what was happening.

“It’s good you’re safe,” Cole told Hawke. “Varric wasn’t smiling.”

“Are you telling tales on me, kid?”

Hawke turned, an instinctive smile tugging at his lips when he heard Varric’s familiar voice. “Varric!”

Varric stared up at him, face blank. “Hawke.” A few seconds later, he asked, “Are you healed now?”

Hawke frowned down at him, mildly confused. “I think?”

“Great.” And without further warning, Varric punched him in the abdomen on the opposite side where the wood had impaled him.

Hawke stumbled back with the impact, breath rushing out in a surprised gasp. Varric hadn’t hit him where he’d been hurt, but the recently healed wound still protested at the violent treatment.

He was probably not as healed as he would like to be.

“ _Don’t_  do that again!” Varric snapped. “I thought you were  _dead_!”

Hawke leaned back, one hand automatically coming down to brace his abdomen. “This conversation is sounding familiar.”

“Blondie may have given you a piece of his mind but  _I’m_  not done yet.” Varric scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t  _ever_  want to be standing on a mountain and watching you get buried under a mound of snow again.” Some of the anger left his expression, and he blinked rapidly. His voice cracked slightly when he said, “It doesn’t make for a good story, all right?”

Hawke stared at him, eyes prickling suspiciously. “Varric—”

“I would’ve had to send letters to everyone,” Varric said. “I would’ve had to say I let you go off  _alone_. What do you think the elf would’ve done? Hell, what about  _Junior_?”

“Carver would break out the alcohol,” Hawke said automatically.

“He’s not  _that_  much of an ass,” Varric objected. He paused, then added, “He’d wait a week.”

“But he’s his brother!” Josephine protested, sounding horrified.

Hawke glanced over, having forgotten their audience. “We didn’t part on the best terms.” He considered how to phrase it, then just tossed caution to the wind and said, “He’d be ecstatic that he no longer needs to light a torch for people to see him.”

Varric opened his mouth, then closed it and punched Hawke in the hip, this time more lightly. “You’re not pulling one over on me. I’m still mad at you.”

“Is that what anger feels like?” Cole asked. “I thought it felt darker.”

“No, it’s anger,” Varric insisted.

“But it’s bubbly?”

“Sometimes anger feels bubbly.”

Cole paused, tilting his head. “Anger broils and boils and explodes, weighing you down until you can’t breathe anymore. Happiness is like bubbles, bright and warm and makes you smile.” He frowned. “Why did you punch him if you’re happy?”

Varric sighed, the sound resigned. “I’m angry, kid. Doesn’t mean I’m not happy as well. And sometimes we punch people to make us feel better.”

“Oh.” Cole considered that. “I’m not sure I’d like to do that.”

“Please don’t,” Cassandra said.

“And don’t punch me again,” Hawke added. “I’m not sure Anders would like that.”

“He doesn’t scare me anymore,” Varric said, scoffing. “Not after the light show he threw when he found out what you were pulling.”

Hawke glanced at the tent, but there was no sign of Anders. Hopefully he was still sleeping. He looked back at Varric, dipping his head. “Thank you.”

Varric didn’t ask what for, his smile rueful. “Of course, Hawke. Let’s not make it a habit, yeah?”

There was a slight hesitation, but then Cassandra moved forwards to stand next to Hawke. She seemed like she wanted to reach out, but she kept her hands to herself. “Hawke…” She didn’t say anything else, brow furrowing. “I…”

Hawke raised his eyebrows inquisitively. He hadn’t seen Cassandra like this before. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was almost  _shy_.

Varric had sidled off slightly and seemed to be trying to hide a smirk.

Eventually, Cassandra said, “I find there is little I could say that would truly express my gratitude for what you did. ‘Thank you’ seems insignificant in light of what happened.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yes,” Cassandra continued evenly. “I do. We would not be here if not for what you did. So…thank you.” Her gaze was fierce, almost like she was daring Hawke to protest and say something.

Hawke didn’t know  _what_ , though. He hadn’t expected that from Cassandra. Probably a punch or something, but not this heartfelt expression of gratitude.

So all he could do was incline his head, holding Cassandra’s gaze.

A few moments later, Cullen cleared his throat, sounding rather embarrassed. “Champion…I have to ask…what happened?”

Tension coiled between Hawke’s shoulders, and he could tell that Varric had sobered. Even Cassandra’s demeanor shifted.

Movement off to the side had him looking to see the Iron Bull, Dorian, Solas, and Blackwall standing there curiously. And, behind him, Hawke heard the tent flap rustle and Anders step out. A second later a warm hand found the crook of Hawke’s elbow and held on.

Looking back at Cullen, Hawke took a breath, setting his jaw. “You know it was Corypheus…”

* * *

“I shouldn’t have let you do it alone.”

“What?” Hawke looked up in confusion, hands braced on the log he was sitting on.

Varric looked uncomfortably guilty, rubbing the back of his neck. “You shouldn’t have had to handle that alone, Hawke.”

“It wasn’t that bad?” Hawke tilted his head. “And they needed to know what happened—”

“No, I’m not talking about the inquisition Curly put you through. You couldn’t pay me to help with that. I’m talking about Corypheus.”

Hawke briefly considered congratulating Varric on the pun before realizing that Varric didn’t seem to be in the mood for joking. “I insisted on it, Varric.”

“And how many times have I not listened to you?” Varric sat down with a thump next to Hawke, leaning forward on his knees. “I thought it’d be okay. But I was thinking about what happened after he’d just woken up. I didn’t realize he’d be so much stronger now.”

Hawke said nothing, largely because he had no idea what to say beyond making vague noises of confusion. Corypheus hadn’t really been that much stronger? Sure, he’d had a dragon, but that was a beast. And the orb wasn’t Corypheus’s either.

But Varric wasn’t saying anything else, staring morosely at the snow between his feet, a dark cloud hanging over him.

Hesitating, Hawke finally settled on: “What do you mean?”

“You know we could see Haven once we were out?” Varric picked his head up to look at him. “Those  _storms_ , Hawke. I’ve fought beside enough mages to know that those types of storms are supposed to go away, but these didn’t. What other tricks did he pull out of his ass that he didn’t have before? Andraste’s tits, he had a  _dragon_!”

“The dragon wasn’t  _that_  bad…” Hawke rubbed his mouth when his attempt at alleviating the mood fell dreadfully flat. Telling Varric  _he’d_  conjured those storms probably wouldn’t go over well either. He didn’t want Varric to be scared of him. “You know those storms don’t move once cast. Corypheus missed. He caused more damage to his own people than to me.”

“Dumb luck,” Varric huffed, dropping his chin to stare at the ground again.

Hawke wrapped an arm around Varric’s shoulders, pulling him in for a side hug and pressing his cheek to the top of Varric’s head. “You realize luck’s how I managed to get this far?”

“Bullshit.” Varric elbowed Hawke in the side, albeit more gingerly than usual since he was on Hawke’s formerly injured side. “It’s maybe twenty-five percent luck, fifty percent skill, and twenty-five percent sheer guts.”

“Hm.” Hawke rather thought it was ninety percent luck, five percent skill, and five percent hoping that he wouldn’t bite off more than he could chew.

“Even if it was more luck than skill this time,” Varric continued after a moment, “you shouldn’t have had to face that yourself.”

Hawke watched Cullen and Leliana get into what looked like another argument, their voices far quieter than earlier that day. “It was easier without,” he said quietly. “I didn’t have to worry about friendly fire.” He looked down at Varric. “I don’t blame you, Varric. I asked for it, remember?”

“Yeah,” Varric said, “and I have  _so many regrets_. Mainly because Blondie was  _so_  pissed off. Do I look like a mini-you?”

“You’re missing the beard.”

“Right now so are you.”

Sighing, Hawke pulled away from Varric, reaching up to rub his hands over his face. The stubble he hadn’t shaved off prickled against his skin. Now that he didn’t have to hide, he wasn’t going to bother with it anymore.

Varric patted his back. “It’ll grow back.”

“That’s not the issue,” Hawke mumbled into his hands.

“I know.” Varric sounded like he was smirking now. “But speaking of issues…Blondie’s here. I think he might want to fuss over you some more.”

“I’m  _fine_. Mostly.”

“Let the healer figure that one out.”

“At least I don’t cauterize the outside and fail to take care of anything else,” Anders said acerbically.

“I tried,” Hawke protested, looking up at him.

Anders crouched besides him, one hand resting on Hawke’s shoulder. He gave Varric a brief nod as the dwarf left before returning his attention to Hawke. “I know. But there’s a reason you’re limited to basic healing spells, love.”

“It was that or bleeding out in a dark cave.”

Anders’s face darkened, cracks of light flaring across his skin before he inhaled sharply and shook his head. “If I’d been there—” he started.

“I couldn’t risk it,” Hawke interrupted, leaning in until their faces were bare inches apart. He reached up to frame Anders’s face with his hands. “Not after what happened last time. What if there wasn’t a way back?”

Anders’s brow scrunched together. “There wasn’t one for you. You were going to let yourself die.”

“That hadn’t been the plan.” Hawke smiled wryly. “But the plan went up in smoke when the dragon destroyed the trebuchet. So…I adapted.”

“Some adaptation,” Anders muttered. He met Hawke’s eyes, almost as if searching for something. It took a moment, but then his frown deepened. “Love…what color are your eyes?”

“…Brown?” Hawke couldn’t keep the confusion out of his voice. “Shouldn’t you know this?”

“Shit.” Anders pulled away, only to pull Hawke to his feet and then push them both into the closest tent, which was empty. Once in the dark and relative privacy, Anders gripped hold of Hawke’s chin and held him still while studying him intently.

“There’s something on my face,” Hawke said, resigned.

“No,” Anders said distractedly, “it’s your  _eyes_. They’re…there’s green in them?” He pressed a thumb to the corner of one of Hawke’s eyes, tugging the skin slightly. “It’s not much, but it’s not normal.”

Hawke wished for a mirror, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to see it himself. “Maybe it’s a trick of the light?” he suggested.

“No,” Anders disagreed. “It’s…too bright. I’ve not seen this before except…” He looked down at Hawke’s hand. “The mark,” he said quietly.

Hawke’s hand reflexively curled into a fist, and he couldn’t help but be reminded that the mark felt different. Not much, but just that much that it was taking him a little to get used to it again.

“Solas had to look at it again after we found you,” Anders said, eyes still on the incriminating hand. “It wouldn’t stop glowing.”

Hawke deliberately uncurled his fingers, only for Anders to gently grasp his wrist and bring it up between them.

“Anders,” he breathed, not wanting to do it.

“Hawke,” Anders responded, just as quietly. “Please.”

Eyes skirting briefly to the tent flap to make sure that they  _were_  alone, Hawke dropped his gaze to his hand and tugged on the mark’s magic.

It flared to life immediately, only this time the light wasn’t just contained to the mark. His entire hand was green, and it felt not unpleasantly tingly. He almost couldn’t feel his fingers, but they wiggled when he moved them.

“It’s spreading,” Anders said after a moment, dread in his voice. “It’s – it’s not just in your  _hand_  anymore.”

Hawke resisted the urge to pull his hand away, letting Anders hold it, white light crackling through his skin. As he looked, he thought he could see veins of green spreading outwards from his glowing green hand. “You’re making it sound like I’m infected.”

“It’s spreading,” Anders said, not making Hawke feel better at all. “Your hand—” His breath stuttered, eyes flaring white. “ **Does it hurt**?” The words were spoken with Anders’s inflection but had a hint of Justice to them.

“It tingles,” Hawke admitted. “It doesn’t feel the same as it did before.”

Anders brought his hand up further, his glowing eyes closing as he pressed his face closer. “ **It’s like the Fade** ,” he murmured. “ **Like you’re there**.”

Hawke had never seen Anders like this before, indistinguishable between Anders and Justice. Usually one was more prominent than the other.

Uneasy, he let the mark’s magic go, and his hand turned back to normal. At the same time, normal sensation returned to his fingers. He turned his hand around to link his fingers through Anders’s, ignoring the way cracks of spirit-light burst through Anders’s skin.

“I’m not there,” Hawke said finally. “Are you all right?”

A breathless moment later, Anders opened his eyes, only a spark of light remaining for a second before it faded as well. He breathed in shakily, shaking his head. “That was…unnerving.” He withdrew one hand to run it over his face.

“You’re both fine?” Hawke asked again, reaching out to touch Anders’s shoulder.

“We are,” Anders answered, dropping his hand to meet Hawke’s eyes. “But…I’m not sure about you.” He frowned down at Hawke’s hand. “If that spreads further…”

“I’ll let you know if it does,” Hawke promised. “But you’ll probably notice before I do.”

Anders just hummed, looking displeased. He pressed a hand to Hawke’s side, a rush of healing magic radiating from the contact. “At least this is something I can take care of.”

Some of the stiffness still in his chest eased with the magic, and Hawke found himself breathing in deeply in relief. Tension he hadn’t even noticed seeped out of his muscles, and he leaned forwards unconsciously, closing the distance until his mouth brushed Anders’s cheek.

Anders sighed, one hand still on Hawke’s side but no longer pushing magic into him, and turned his head to catch Hawke’s lips.

It probably wasn’t the time or place for such activities, but given everything that had happened, Hawke really couldn’t care less. Anyone that came in could politely show themselves out.

* * *

Hours later, it was much darker than it should have been for early evening. But the sun was behind the mountains, and the shadows were long.

Hawke didn’t feel the cold, keeping himself as warm as possible without setting anyone’s bells off. Anders might have protested, but he was busy checking on the Inquisition’s injured, making sure that they’d survive the cold. Besides, the temperature wasn’t anything compared to what he’d walked through the other day to get here.

Huddled in a somewhat isolated corner of the camp, Hawke kept his left hand half tucked under the robe he’d borrowed from Anders. Now that he was aware the mark really  _had_  changed and not necessarily for the better, it was practically impossible to ignore it.

He’d tugged on the magic several times already, and every time was as intimidating as the last. So now he was keeping it hidden as if he could forget it existed.

Ignorance was nice sometimes, but far easier if the thing he was trying to ignore wasn’t on his  _hand_.

Secreted away as he was, Hawke was surprised when Solas found him.

Solas studied him for a long moment, brow furrowed. Then, “Hawke.”

Hawke dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Did you need something?”

“I wished to speak with you.” Solas stepped past him and beyond the perimeter of the tents, looking out at the foot of a mountain that towered over their heads. He glanced back at Hawke. “In private?”

Glancing back at the tent he was standing by, which was a medical tent for some of the more badly injured, Hawke inhaled a breath of cold air, focusing on the chill. He wasn’t entirely sure where he stood with Solas after the recent revelation of his identity, but Solas wouldn’t pull anything with the Inquisition so close.

And he wasn’t  _entirely_  helpless, even if he wasn’t up to par yet.

Solas led him out to where a torch had been stuck in the snow, lighting it with a wave of the hand. The taste of his magic tugged at Hawke’s memory, seeming startlingly familiar for a strange reason.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know what Solas’s magic felt like. He’d fought besides the elf for weeks. But this was something  _more_.

His hand tingled where he had it tucked under his cloak, and Hawke didn’t have to look to know that the mark was glowing.

_“Watch the elf. He isn’t what he seems.”_

What had Justice meant?

Hawke still had no clue, and Solas wasn’t offering answers either.

“I was unable to say so before,” Solas began, “but I am glad to know you are well. It was a close call.”

Hawke resisted the urge to touch his side, coming up to stand by the torch as well. “So I’ve gathered.”

“I know a little of your tale,” Solas continued. “I have not read Varric’s book, although Dorian assures me it is an interesting read.” His smile was amused. “You were never in a Circle, were you?”

“My father was,” Hawke answered. “But no. Not that I ever confirmed it.”

“You did not,” Solas agreed. “We made assumptions that you never refuted.”

“I won’t apologize,” Hawke said.

Solas seemed mildly surprised. “I don’t expect one. What you did is understandable.” He glanced askance at Hawke. “You faced Corypheus before, did you not?”

“I released him,” Hawke admitted, looking down. “It was a Grey Warden prison, and we were trapped inside it. Only way out was unlocking the seals and releasing him.” He paused, closing his eyes. “He was dead. I know he was dead.”

How could one who had been dead come back to life? Necromancy only went so far, and even that blasted blood mage in Kirkwall hadn’t really…

So if Corypheus hadn’t been  _dead_ , what had he done?

It had all happened so quickly at the time, the fight a blur of movement and magic in Hawke’s memory, and then Corypheus had been dead after one final blast of magic. It had just been the four of them and—

Larius.

Hawke had almost forgotten about that Grey Warden, lost in the Deep Roads to meet his Calling. But now that he remembered…

Larius had been so odd afterwards. How had Hawke missed that?

No, he knew how. He’d been too relieved to be alive, to be out of the Deep Roads.

“Hm.” Snow crunched beneath Solas’s feet as he shifted his weight. “I’m afraid I have no answer to that. But for one. You mentioned earlier that Corypheus had an orb in his possession, one that he used to try and take the Anchor from you. The orb is an elven relic, one that he used to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave.”

Solas was looking into the flames of the torch. “I do not yet know how Corypheus survived. I also do not know how people will react when they learn of the orb’s origins.”

Hawke took a moment to absorb the information, considering what it meant. Solas didn’t seem at all confident except for his declaration that the orb was elven. Hawke had known it wasn’t Corypheus’s, but elven?

“How do you know?” he asked eventually, keeping his tone carefully blank. “Or maybe I should ask what it’s supposed to do. I doubt Corypheus was using it for its intended purpose.”

A flicker of a smile darted across Solas’s face, the only sign of his amusement before it vanished. “Doubtlessly. It is a foci, used to channel ancient magic. I’ve seen it in the Fade, old memories of elven magic. Corypheus may be somewhat familiar with it.” A hint of scorn crept into his voice. “His empire’s magic was built on the bones of my people’s.”

Hawke exhaled, breath warm in the cold air. A plume of smoke materialized and vanished seconds later. He reached his right hand out, holding it inches away from the torch Solas had lit.

He didn’t know what elven magic felt like beyond what Corypheus had thrown at him, but Solas’s magic felt uncomfortably familiar now. Not in the way Anders’s did, like an old familiar blanket, but like something half-forgotten that would bite him in the ass later.

“But whether or not he knows what he is dealing with,” Solas continued, steel and anger entering his tone, “he risks our lives. I cannot allow it.” The Fade about him bristled furiously, chillingly cold in a way that Hawke hadn’t expected.

It reminded him that there was more to Justice’s words – that there was something  _odd_  about Solas. Something he’d noticed from the very beginning with how closely the Fade hugged him, similarly to how it had hugged Bethany when she had still been alive. Only it was a great deal closer, and Solas didn’t seem to share the same senses that Bethany had.

Or if he did, he didn’t let it show. It wasn’t as if Hawke advertised what he could do.

“We’re in agreement,” Hawke said eventually, looking to Solas. “I don’t want him running around with it anymore than you do. I know what he’s capable of, and I don’t want to see him succeed.”

The Fade around Solas warmed, some of the anger dissipating. “I am glad to hear it. And if we are to continue, there are steps we can take to prevent Corypheus from reaching his goals. First is finding a new base, as Haven is now under snow.”

“Intentionally,” Hawke said before he could stop himself.

“Quite,” Solas agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Although I know of one that will better fit this changed Inquisition. One you can guide them to.”

There was no map that Solas could point to, but his words were clear enough. So when Hawke returned to the proper camp, he couldn’t help but look to the north, wondering where the fortress that Solas had spoken about was.

Skyhold…

When Hawke dropped his gaze, he was rather surprised and dismayed to find that in the time since he’d left, the mood had dropped significantly. Leliana was curled in a ball by one of the larger fires, Josephine sitting on a log right by her. Cullen was slumped over by a tent, running hands through his hair, and Cassandra was standing by a table and scowling at a map in a manner that Hawke recognized as stress and not anger.

He’d definitely been spending too much time with Cassandra if he could pick apart her scowls now.

“You missed a show, you know,” Dorian’s voice came from behind him. Somehow the mage had approached him without him noticing. “There was quite a bit of arguing about what to do. Even more than before, and I rather thought that was impossible.” He was looking in the direction of Cullen. “They seem to have burned out now.”

“And everyone else?” Hawke asked quietly.

“They’re a bit down, too,” Dorian said offhandedly, but his smile was pained. “No one knows what’s next.”

Technically speaking, Hawke didn’t know either. Sure, he could lead them to Skyhold, but what then? They had to deal with Corypheus. They had to figure out how to handle a threat that practically none of them knew how to deal with, and they were stuck in the middle of the mountains for now.

But if this lasted…no one was going to go anywhere.

It was another moment’s consideration before Hawke made up his mind, and he squared his shoulders and strode forward.

“You’re looking at that map as if it’s offended you,” Hawke said loudly once he approached Cassandra.

Cassandra jolted slightly, as if she hadn’t expected Hawke to be there. She looked up to meet his eyes. “It may as well have,” she answered, nose wrinkling. “It’s practically useless. There’s nothing anywhere near us for miles, and that’s if we can even figure out where we are.” She made a disgusted noise, shoving the map away from her. “Corypheus may no longer be able to find us, but that is solely because even  _we_  cannot find ourselves.”

Hawke caught the map before it could fly off the table, pressing it into the wood. “So that’s it?” he asked, keeping his voice at the same level as before. It was getting people’s attention, the others perking up. “You’re giving up?”

“Herald—” Cassandra broke off at the look Hawke sent her, correcting herself to “ _Hawke_. I don’t know what you’re expecting.”

“We’re not dead,” Hawke said, his voice sounding unexpectedly loud in the hush that had just fallen. Everyone seemed to be listening. “We had our backs to a wall in Haven, but we made it out. All of us. The Inquisition isn’t lost even if Haven is under a mound of snow. Do you know why?” He leaned forward, both hands on the table, holding Cassandra’s gaze. “Because the Inquisition isn’t a place or a building. It’s the  _people_. And we’re all right here.”

He stepped back, looking round at the crowd of people that had circled around, faces cast in shadow and flickering light, wary and frightened in equal measures. The sight was intimidating, and he regretted even taking the look since his breath stuttered in his chest at the confirmation that all eyes were on him.

No, no, he could do this.

Willing none of his trepidation to show on his face, Hawke continued, making sure his voice carried as he looked over to Leliana and Josephine. “Each one of us has a part to play here. Each one of us is a threat to Corypheus, one that he fears. He struck us then because he knew what we were capable of. He knew exactly what we could become.” He glanced back at Cassandra, one hand coming down to the map she had been glaring at. “Are we going to roll over and let him win because we’ve lost one battle? Or are we going to prove that he was right to fear us?”

Hawke set his jaw, mustering the courage to look people in the eyes. He started with Cassandra, and the steadfast hope he saw in her eyes gave him strength. Even Cullen seemed more alive now.

And it was Anders’s eyes that he met last; Hawke’s breath left him on a relieved exhale. Anders was smiling, something bright glinting in his eyes that Hawke recognized.

“I have faith in you all,” Hawke said, still holding Anders’s gaze. “I have faith we can do this because haven’t we already achieved the impossible?” He looked up to the heavens, to the faint glimpse of the scar that was the remnant of the Breach. Then, looking down, he stepped to the side and around the table. “Let’s do it once more.” He extended a hand to Cassandra, meeting her eyes.

There was no hesitation from Cassandra when she reached out to clasp his hand, her grip strong. “I am with you,” she said, voice clear.

“As am I,” Anders said, coming up behind Hawke. He braced a hand against the small of Hawke’s back.

“You beat me to it,” Varric said from Hawke’s other side.

“Are we going round in a circle to proclaim our support?” Dorian asked from somewhere behind Hawke, sounding chipper. “If so, I concur.”

“You know where I stand,” Blackwall said, voice coming from the same direction as Dorian’s.

The Iron Bull’s deep voice was an unexpected surprise that had Hawke jolting. “I’m in.”

Cullen stepped forward, shoulders strong and no sign of his earlier hopelessness in his bearing. “What is our next step, Herald?”

“Herald,” not “Champion.” Hawke wasn’t sure what that meant, only that Cullen had dropped the title like it held a new significance that it didn’t have before.

Hawke almost said “Hell if I know” but resisted doing so at the last second. Confidence,  _confidence_. His sarcasm wouldn’t fly here with this crowd, not with this speech.

“I have word there’s a fortress to the north,” Hawke said, looking round at his companions. “When we’re ready, we’ll head there.” He smiled, relishing the jump Cullen gave at the sight. “Corypheus won’t know what hit him.”

The words hung in the air for several long seconds.

Then, silently, Cullen inclined his head in Hawke’s direction, almost dipping into what looked like a  _bow_.

It started a ripple effect, other people bowing and actually  _kneeling_. There was a reverence in the air that hadn’t been there moments ago, and the process continued until almost every person around him was bowing or kneeling.

Hawke had no idea how to react, only that Anders’s hand at his back was a steady reassurance he wasn’t alone.

Swallowing, Hawke pressed a hand to his heart, returning Cullen’s initial bow with his own.

He had the horrible sensation of having started something he wasn’t sure how to finish.

* * *

_“Did Carver come see me while I was half-dead?”_

_Varric looked at him, confusion plastered all over his face. It would have been convincing if he hadn’t overheard that conversation. “Junior?”_

_“Yes, also known as my brother. Was he there?”_

_“Er…” Varric squinted at him. “You’re…not going to believe me if I say no, are you?” He sounded resigned. “Who spilled the beans?”_

_“No one,” he said, elbows on the table they were sitting at in the Hanged Man. “But I heard that last conversation you had with him. Something about Anders maybe stabbing you with a fork?”_

_“You heard **that**? When did you wake up?”_

_“It doesn’t matter,” he said, giving Varric a sharp look. “You’re avoiding the question.”_

_“Right, ah…” Varric dropped his eyes to his tankard of ale. “He did. He came in at the tail end, right after you keeled over and Blondie had to make sure you weren’t going to die on us.” His tone was light, like he was discussing the weather on a trip to the Wounded Coast. “Didn’t say anything then since Meredith was busy announcing you as Champion, but he stopped by occasionally. It…didn’t really go over well.”_

_“Varric.”_

_“What?” Varric’s eyes snapped up to his, his face injured. “C’mon, Hawke. After the shit he **said** …do you think any of us wanted him around? Blondie was stressed enough without adding Junior to the mix. And, yeah, I get he was upset, but that was uncalled for.”_

_“It wasn’t,” he objected._

_“Okay.” Varric put up his hands. “Let’s say it wasn’t. But Blondie was **pretty**  pissed about it, and he only gets pissed off about righteous causes. You know how he is.”_

_“He has a blind spot,” he said slowly._

_“Love will do that to you,” Varric said. “Just like I’m also sure he’ll whack you upside the head if you do something stupid. Or maybe go off like a firecracker. My money’s on the latter.”_

_There really wasn’t anything he could say to that, so he opted to stay quiet. But… “I haven’t seen him since,” he said quietly._

_Varric’s face softened. “Can’t help you there, Hawke. I don’t know what’s going through his mind. I know I’m the last person who should suggest this considering my own sorry family history, but you could talk to him?”_

_“Right,” he said, snorting. “Me, going into the Gallows now? They know who I am. That’s asking for trouble. Besides,” he added, tone softer, “he wouldn’t want to talk. He’s never wanted to.” He reached up to rub the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “That was always Bethany.”_

_And it wasn’t like Carver needed him. He’d made that crystal clear on more than one occasion. Just because the most recent occasion had been the most painful didn’t make it any less valid._

_And his brother had a **point**. Carver was safer without dealing with his messes. He’d gotten his mother killed because he’d been too slow. Bethany was dead because he hadn’t reacted in time._

_No, Carver had been right to break things off._

_“It’s better this way,” he said eventually, eyes on the table. He didn’t want to see what would be written on Varric’s face. “At least this way…I can’t get him in trouble.”_

_“Oh, you’re kidding, right?” Varric snorted, only to cover it with a cough a second later. “Trouble’s probably going to find **him**. He’s a Hawke, too, you know.”_

_It turned out that Varric was right._

_Not that he would ever tell the dwarf that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was after writing the first scene with Justice and Hawke that I realized I really needed to add a Justice/Hawke tag, so that's when that happened. Also, no sex actually happened. Hawke was too injured, and the cot's too rickety for that. As well as lack of privacy... Hawke's definitely not an exhibitionist.  
> The greener eyes are my personal head canon for what happens to the Inquisitor through the course of the game. I actually use the Emporium to fiddle with my Inquisitor's eyes every time the Anchor changes, just for a little more realism.
> 
> Cassandra is privately squeeing over the fact that this is _Hawke the Champion of Kirkwall_. So she's also hitting herself in the face for being so lame with her thank you. She couldn't have been more eloquent?! At least Hawke didn't laugh in her face. (That's not to say she doesn't realize in the privacy of her tent that she's been butting heads with the _Champion of Kirkwall_. Why??)
> 
> Hawke is hiding some things... He always is, even from his closest friends. Mages are rather terrifying, and he's...a little more terrifying than the average mage. We'll see more of Hawke's capabilities as the story progresses; we've only seen a bit in the fight against Corypheus and his dragon.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this bit of downtime! :) There'll be a little more downtime in the next chapter. We're not that far off from Skyhold now.
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	14. Skyhold I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is at once a super long chapter and also the LAST chapter that will be posted for a while! At least until I get to the Winter Palace, at which time a normal posting schedule will be resumed for a short time. I am currently stuck at some point in Chapter 16 with trying to get past an important conversation, but hopefully it'll be smoother sailing after that. I also have several other stories I'm involved with, which makes me rather guilty when I only focus on one story.
> 
> In any case, thanks so much for tuning in! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please let me know what you thought!

_“I never told you how Justice and I met, did I?”_

_Anders’s voice roused him, and he took notice that it was the middle of the night. And that the curtains were thankfully not on fire so things must have been relatively fine._

_Then he realized what had woken him, so he rolled on his side to see Anders watching him, mouth twisted uneasily. He searched for the right words, but his brain was fuzzy and all he managed was, “You didn’t spring out of the womb like this?”_

_The corner of Anders’s lips tilted up in a small smile. “No. Maybe it would have been easier if I had.”_

_“Then no.” He tucked one hand under his pillow, leaving the other lying between them for Anders to hold if he wanted. “I’m all ears.”_

_“I was a new Warden,” Anders murmured, voice quiet in the stillness of the night, his own weariness dulling the edges of the words. “We were investigating the talking darkspawn that we’d seen in Vigil’s Keep. There was another Warden who’d gone missing, and we tracked him to the Blackmarsh. Lovely place. All…marshy.” His nose wrinkled._

_“It’s a marsh.”_

_“It could have been a dry marsh,” Anders said dryly. “But well… It wasn’t.” His voice was quiet as he spoke about the Blackmarsh Undying’s history, the ruins that they had seen there and the thin Veil._

_Along with how they’d been pulled into the Fade by the First._

_“The village was there,” Anders said. “As were the villagers. They didn’t know they were dead. I had watched them for a while, but I had – no.” He frowned, eyes closing. “That was Justice,” he continued more slowly. “Justice had been watching. He wanted to help and had started rousing the villagers. That’s when we found them. The Warden-Commander was fierce; she didn’t hesitate before agreeing to help. The only thing she wanted was a way out, and I promised to help find one.”_

_Anders didn’t seem to have noticed the lapse. Nor did he notice the way cracks of light were breaking through his skin._

_He inhaled, drawing in closer and reaching out with one hand to tangle his fingers with Anders’s. “What happened?”_

_“The First had been drawn into the Fade as well and sought the help of the Baroness. To his own death, as she used his blood to fuel the spell that sent us all back into the world of the living. When we woke…there was a spirit in a corpse and no way to return. It was terrifying.”_

_“But you made it back.”_

_“Did I?” Anders murmured, eyes half-lidded in the dark. They were too bright for Anders’s usual brown. “Trapped in the living world in the rotting body of a corpse. A spirit isn’t alive, not like you. But he was trapped, and so he joined us. But a corpse is a corpse, and there was no solution to be found.”_

_“Destroying the corpse wouldn’t do anything?”_

_“It would not have opened the way back.”_

_That put the number of walking corpses they’d destroyed in a new light. “So we have a bunch of spirits wandering around after we’ve destroyed their bodies?”_

_Anders smiled at that. “Not quite. Destroy the body, destroy what is holding the spirit together. No spirit who made it to the world of the living has ever returned.”_

_He paused. “It…is rather maddening being trapped in a dead body; you lose your senses. I – Justice was entirely aware and in the world of mortals. I would not wish it on another spirit. The living world is different, you see. You cannot will things to change, not like in the Fade.” He blinked, looking slightly disconcerted. “Demons take,” he said after a moment. “They don’t ask. And I – Justice didn’t want to take. It was Nathaniel who suggested that he ask about sharing a body. I didn’t like the idea, but it was the only thing we could think of.”_

_It was disconcerting hearing Justice’s inflections without the usual reverberation of the spirit’s voice. But he wouldn’t point it out, not with Anders as calm as he was right now._

_“But we waited,” Anders continued. “I don’t know what for. Another solution? One that never came. But the Warden-Commander left for the palace; she had only ever intended on staying for a short time before resuming her duties as the Queen.”_

_There was a stiffness in Anders’s body that hadn’t been there before, and the sense of the Fade about him sharpened almost painfully. “The Chantry sent templars. There wasn’t a moment I was alone after they joined. It became more and more frustrating, and I was running out of time. I had offered to help Justice if he wanted, and he wanted to help the mages._

_“So much injustice, and we could **help**. If we joined, if we would be able to work together…” Anders’s chin ducked, his hair falling into his eyes. “But it was a decision not made lightly, so we waited. Perhaps too long.”_

_He didn’t say anything, slowly sliding closer before stopping their heads were scant inches from one another._

_After a few minutes where he thought Anders had fallen asleep, the other spoke again. “We thought it was safe. We had met outside as we usually did. I’m…not sure what we were doing anymore. Patrolling, maybe?” Fingers tightened where they were interlinked with his own. “I think…they found us.” He was shaking slightly, his grip so tight it was almost painful. “It was a massacre, Hawke. When I woke up…they were all dead, and I was – Justice was in me.”_

_He didn’t want to push and ask what happened, but he had to admit there was a morbid curiosity burning in his chest._

_Anders didn’t wait for him to indulge it, saying, “We killed them. They attacked first – thrust a sword through our heart that failed because we were no longer mortal – but where was the justice? It was vengeance, and we did not know if we were still ourselves. So…we fled.”_

_His eyes flickered to the spot on Anders’s chest where a scar bloomed. There was another mark on his back that looked virtually identical to the one on his chest. He’d asked before where Anders had gotten it, but there had never been an answer._

_Now…he rather wished that it hadn’t been received this way._

_Anders drew in a shuddering breath, lifting his head just enough to meet his eyes. “That’s how I met him,” he said softly. “And joined as well.” His smile was wry._

_He closed the rest of the distance to pull Anders into a hug as best as he could with one arm, moving to hide his face in the crook of Anders’s neck. “Thank you for sharing.” He inhaled the scent of the Fade, much purer and cleaner than anything else in Kirkwall, and exhaled in relief. “That shouldn’t have happened.”_

_Anders hugged back, the touch slightly shaky. “You don’t…care? We – I killed several templars with my **bare hands** —”_

_“You think I don’t know you’re dangerous? You know me, Anders.” He pulled away just far enough that he could look Anders in the eyes. “How dangerous do you think I am?”_

_Anders carefully touched his face, fingers pressing on his cheekbones. “Far more than you pretend to be, far less than I am.”_

_“Yes,” he agreed. “So do you think it matters? I knew what I was getting into when I met you. I knew who I was falling in love with. You’re the only one; you know that.”_

_“I still don’t believe it,” Anders murmured. “But perhaps I should considering you.”_

_“Please do.” He pressed a kiss to the underside of Anders’s jaw. “And please stop trying to scare me off. You’re going to give me a complex.”_

_Anders’s laugh wasn’t as light as it usually as, but it was enough. As was the fierce kiss Anders pulled him into seconds later._

* * *

The first night after they began their journey to Skyhold saw most of Hawke’s traveling companions sitting around a large fire Hawke had started.

Really, it had just been Varric, Hawke, and Anders first, but Dorian joined them not long after. Cole appeared to sit by Hawke’s feet, hat hiding his face from view. Minutes later, Cassandra crept in to sit by Varric, looking rather like she would glare anyone who protested into submission. Then came Solas, Blackwall, and the Iron Bull in short succession.

Hawke wasn’t sure why everyone wanted to share this particular fire since there were others that probably had more room, but he obligingly made it a little larger every time someone else joined.

Eventually Anders pulled him away and let Dorian take over fire-keeping duties. The other mage didn’t seem to know what to do with the large piece of wood Varric had handed him with a solemn face but did seem to doubt that poking wood into a fire was a good idea.

The night was quiet, everyone exhausted from the day’s march through the snow and cold of the mountains. The only thing that could be heard was the occasional rustle of wind and the crackling of the fire.

For his part, Hawke had to admit he was more exhausted than he should have been, his body not yet recovered from its earlier ordeal. He was dozing off where his head was lying on Anders’s thigh, fingers stroking through his hair soothingly. Anders’s other hand was clasped in his own on his chest, directly over his heart.

Lying on the ground should have been uncomfortable, but Hawke had made sure to melt the snow and warm the ground before doing so. The heat of the fire staved off any remaining chill, as did the warm cloak he was wearing.

Hawke was almost asleep when Cassandra’s voice dragged him out of it, the sound unexpected after so long in silence or quiet murmurs.

“It’s so obvious. How did I not notice before?” She sounded rather disgusted, and Hawke’s brain was fuzzy enough that he couldn’t tell who it was directed towards.

“You weren’t looking for it?” Varric offered, sitting on Anders’s other side.

“That may be, but what happened in Haven should have been enough.” Cassandra sounded displeased now. “Who else would be brave enough to go so near an abomination? And that it was  _Anders_ —”

Hawke roused himself enough to say sharply, “He’s  _not_.”

“It’s fine,” Anders said quietly, not looking in Cassandra’s direction.

Hawke tried to sit up, but Anders pushed him down forcefully with the hand on his chest. Huffing, he resettled, but he scowled up at the night sky. “Cassandra, I’d be obliged if you didn’t call Anders an abomination since he isn’t.”

He couldn’t see Cassandra, but he was relatively sure that she was frowning pretty heavily now and probably eyeing him skeptically. “He is possessed by a spirit—”

“He’s not trying to kill any of us,” Hawke said offhandedly, thumb stroking over Anders’s knuckles. “Which is what abominations generally do in my experience. They also mutate.” There was a great deal more to an abomination than that, but those were the easiest hallmarks for him to point out to someone who couldn’t see things the same way.

“Then what would you call him?” Cassandra asked.

Hawke didn’t give it much thought before answering, “Anders. Or Justice. Depends on who it is.”

“How can you tell?” Blackwall sounded curious.

“Generally, one glows and the other doesn’t,” Varric replied flippantly. “But that’s just me. I dunno about Hawke.”

Hawke smiled up at Anders, squeezing his hand. It was glowing softly, like Justice didn’t want to draw attention. “The glowing is a good sign.” And the taste and feel of the Fade that Justice brought with him, so sharp and tangible that Hawke could never miss it.

The silence that fell back over them was only broken intermittently by the crackling hiss of the fire.

Hawke started to drift off again, breathing evening out, when Cassandra spoke again. “How did it happen? You and…Justice.”

“I would’ve thought Varric had it all written out,” Anders responded, head turning to the side to look over at Cassandra. “Or didn’t he tell you while you were interrogating him for Hawke’s whereabouts?”

Varric snorted. “It was  _The Tale of the Champion_ not  _The Tale of the Warden and His Spirit Buddy_. Besides, you weren’t exactly chatty about it.”

“Is that you angling for a story, Varric?”

“Nah.” Varric paused, then added, “Or it could be? There hasn’t been anything written on what happened after the Hero of Ferelden ended the Blight. Just…history books.”

“Brother Genitivi gets around,” Anders agreed, humming slightly.

Hawke reached up with his other hand to stroke the edge of Anders’s jaw, murmuring, “You don’t have to.”

Anders leaned briefly into the touch before looking up at the others. “There must be something else more interesting to do than listen to me talk. I’m not even that good at telling stories.”

“Oh no,” Dorian said brightly. “Otherwise we’ll just be sitting here freezing our asses off.”

“Speak for yourself,” the Iron Bull said. “I’m pretty toasty over here.”

“And how that’s possible given you aren’t even wearing a shirt is a mystery.”

“There are colder places to be,” Cole said, knees pulled up to his chest. “But here isn’t so bad, not with the fire and people—”

“Okay, buddy, that’s enough.” The Iron Bull sounded perturbed.

Anders chuckled. “That’s more interesting than anything I could come up with.”

“Nope.” From the way Anders shifted, Varric must have elbowed him. “C’mon, Blondie. We’re all ears.”

“All right.” Anders huffed out another laugh, bringing his left hand up to push his hair back. “I should probably start more at the beginning, shouldn’t I?” He paused, considering. “It was about six months after the Warden-Commander killed the Archdemon. I hadn’t been in the Circle for at least that long, so I didn’t know what happened there.”

“Southern mages are usually in Circles, aren’t they?” Dorian asked. “Except for Hawke here, I suppose.” When Solas coughed lightly, Dorian added, “And you.”

“I’d escaped,” Anders said bluntly. “This was probably my seventh try? It was a good long while, too. But I’d stopped to help this couple: the husband was injured and the wife sick. I stayed too long, and the templars tracked me down.” His face darkened. “They took me to Vigil’s Keep; it was only supposed to be for a night. They put me in this lovely cell…”

Anders shook his head. “The darkspawn attacked that same night. I’m not sure what the templars were thinking, but one of them tried to get in the cell with me. Maybe he thought it’d be better protection?” His lips quirked. “The darkspawn killed them quickly enough, and then I killed them. That’s when the Warden-Commander found me.” He was smiling, so at least this part was good. “She let me help.” The smile vanished in favor of a frown. “Only then I was conscripted because this self-righteous templar came with King Alistair and thought I was too dangerous to go free.”

“I cannot imagine why,” Cassandra said dryly.

“I know, right? It’s not like I’d slipped the Circle half a dozen times by that point…” Anders smirked lightly. “Anyway, I was a Warden, and we had a mystery to solve. Such as why darkspawn could suddenly talk, and why they were still out and about after the Archdemon was dead.”

“Talking darkspawn?” Dorian sounded alarmed.

Anders waved it off briefly before dropping his hand to return to playing with Hawke’s hair. “It’s handled now. But it wasn’t then. We ended up going to the Blackmarsh in search for a Warden named Kristoff, who was also investigating the darkspawn.”

“He was dead, wasn’t he,” Varric said, sounding like he already knew this story.

“Are you going to let me tell the story or not?” Anders waited until Varric had subsided before continuing. “Yes, he was dead. And rather conveniently laid out not far from his camp. In retrospect, it was a rather obvious trap… But the Warden-Commander didn’t have much choice, so we went poking about. Only for the darkspawn to ambush us. I think it was the one called the First; he had some kind of orb that sent us all into the Fade.”

Hawke could see Solas perk up. “Physically?”

“It might as well have considering it knocked us out and locked us away,” Anders said acerbically. “I’m not sure what it was, but it did the impossible since Oghren came, too.”

Cassandra sounded disbelieving. “ _Oghren_?”

“I know, right?” Anders sounded longsuffering. “He wasn’t much happier.”

“Dwarves don’t dream,” Cole said, head tilting. “Dwarves  _can’t_  dream. So why the Fade? Not possible—”

“A dwarf was in the Fade?” Dorian interrupted. “A  _dwarf_?”

“A smelly, loud, and rude dwarf,” Anders said. “I don’t know what the Warden-Commander saw in him, but I suppose there’s something to be said for having faced down the Blight together.”

He was still stroking through Hawke’s hair with one hand, but he was becoming stiffer. The amusement in his voice hadn’t reached his eyes.

Hawke slowly sat up, glad when Anders didn’t push him back down, moving until his side was pressed up against Anders’s and he could wrap an arm around him. “Was that where you met Justice?” he asked quietly, more to prompt Anders than to get an answer he already knew.

“Yes,” Anders said, voice subdued. “The Blackmarsh Undying… There’d been a village there at one point, years ago. The ruins were still there when we went, and the Veil was thin. But the Fade…the Fade remembered. The village was there, as were all the inhabitants. They’d been locked away by the Baroness when they burned her mansion down.” He looked up, light glinting in his eyes. “She had taken their children for her blood magic. It was justice they sought and justice they meted out, but she stole their lives in turn.”

Anders didn’t continue immediately, eyes closed.

Last time Hawke had heard this story, it had been in the dead of the night, and Anders’s words and tone inflections had changed between his own and Justice’s.

“The Baroness pulled us back through the Veil and to our bodies,” Anders continued, voice neutral and words carefully enunciated. “Justice was in a corpse. Since there was nowhere else for him to go, the Warden-Commander let him join us.” A smile flickered across his face. “She had a habit of picking up strays. And…in this case it was helpful.”

Anders was as stiff as a board. “After she left to return to Denerim, the Chantry sent some templars. Officially the templars weren’t templars any longer. Unofficially…well…we all knew they were there to watch me.”

Hawke’s eyes flicked over to Cassandra, noting that she was frowning.

“Nathaniel Howe was the one to suggest that Justice share a body with a living human. There weren’t any other options we could think of, so we started talking about how it would be possible.” Anders rubbed a hand over his mouth, brow furrowed. “He wanted to help the mages,” he said slowly. “He had heard enough from me to have opinions about what to do. I’m…not entirely sure what happened that pushed our hand. Only at the end…we were joined.” He looked up, smile wry. “We went to Kirkwall, and you can read Varric’s book for the details there. He’s better than I am when it comes to that.”

“You skimped out on the ending there, Blondie,” Varric complained. “Where were the heroic battles?”

“Not so heroic,” Anders muttered, eyes dropping.

“The templars,” Cassandra said slowly, “what happened to them?”

Anders’s shoulders slumped as he curled in tighter towards Hawke. “I think you know.”

“Man.” The Iron Bull blew out a long, slow breath through his teeth, the air whistling slightly. “Demons aren’t anything to mess with.”

Anders reacted before Hawke could, cracks of light bursting through his skin. As close to him as he was, Hawke’s skin tingled with the close touch of the Fade, and he found his next breath nothing but Fade-touched oxygen.

“ **I am not** —” Anders broke off, wrenching away from Hawke and standing hastily. He was still glowing with light, but it was Anders stalking away from the fire and into the dark, in the opposite direction of the rest of the camp.

Hawke didn’t hesitate before running after him, propping himself up on Varric’s shoulder as he stood.

No one called after him, which was just as well since he had very little patience for anything else.

When he caught up with Anders, the other was kneeling in the snow, arms wrapped around himself and shivering violently in the freezing wind.

He didn’t say anything, instead crouching down beside him and warming the air until the shivers began to subside. He kept a hand on Anders’s shoulder, a simple reminder that he was there.

Hawke wasn’t sure how much time passed before Anders lifted his head, looking off into the darkness.

“We don’t know what we are, Hawke,” Anders whispered, his voice almost lost to the wind. “It’s better now that we’re not in Kirkwall. But…we don’t know.”

Hawke almost said that he was whomever he wanted to be. That he was Anders and that he was Justice. He almost said that he didn’t care because it didn’t matter to him.

But it mattered to Anders, and he didn’t want to hurt him anymore.

So he knelt down in the snow, moving to wrap Anders in a hug and pressed his lips to Anders’s temple.

“I know,” Hawke said quietly once Anders had relaxed. “And I’m sorry.”

“You make it better,” Anders murmured. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Hawke didn’t want to dwell on that frightening possibility, so he responded the best way he could. “Not kneeling in the snow in the middle of the Frostback Mountains. Really, I think anywhere else would be better.”

Anders snorted, seemingly despite himself. His grin looked slightly disbelieving but was a relief to see. “Oh, love… You’re wrong. Here’s exactly where I want to be.” He reached up to touch Hawke’s cheek, kissing him briefly. “But you’re right. Here’s rather chilly. Can we move?”

“Please.”

* * *

The second day was another day’s hard march, although tempered for those in the Inquisition who were unable to keep up the pace. They had horses, but not so many that there was enough for every child or injured person. The oxen were few as well and pulled the carts filled with necessary supplies.

Hawke was in better shape that day than he had been the previous one. Even so, he was exhausted when they set up camp for the evening and lit fires.

Anders had stayed by his side during the day, hooded cloak keeping his features hidden as he watched Hawke struggle with a crinkled map and compass in amusement. But he did take pity at one point and help Hawke hold it in place before the wind could crumple it up again.

Hawke wasn’t sure if the others would want to share a campfire again, but he didn’t feel up to another night like last time. Anders didn’t look up for it either, eyes pinched and mouth weary.

Maybe his companions could see that, since the only person who joined them by the small campfire Hawke had set up by their tent was Varric. His friend didn’t say anything beyond settling down to tend to Bianca.

There wasn’t a great deal to lean against aside from cots and some crates, but Hawke had one that he pushed over until it was close enough to the fire that they could sit against it and not be burned from the heat. Hawke was more curled into Anders than leaning against the crate, preferring the warmth of his body to the cold wood.

It was also a position he could fall asleep in, although that definitely hadn’t been the intention when he’d slowly leaned into Anders.

Drowsy, Hawke turned his head to the side to brush his nose along Anders’s neck, lips following suit. The contact had Anders shivering in a way that made Hawke smile briefly, lips still pressed to warm skin.

“It’s frightening, but he makes it better,” Cole’s voice said, coming from Anders’s other side. “Not Anders, not Justice, just  _me_.”

Varric jumped, flinching back. “Andraste’s ass, kid! Give a dwarf some warning, will you?”

“Why would I wear a bell?” Cole sounded confused. “It would be too small.”

“So that I don’t get a heart attack every time you decide to pop out of nowhere?”

Cole didn’t answer, but Hawke could picture his head tilting to the side.

“You were hurting last night,” Cole said quietly. “I wanted to help, but the Hawke did first, soothed the hurt, you’re you and no one else.”

Hawke winced at the address, far too keenly reminded of Corypheus. “Do I look like a bird?” he muttered. “Just Hawke’s fine.”

“You’re missing the feathers,” Varric agreed.

Hawke could feel Anders’s chest expand with the breath he took before he spoke. “You’re…Compassion.”

Oh?

Hawke picked himself up enough to peer around Anders to see Cole’s reaction. The other didn’t look surprised, simply dipping his head in acknowledgement.

Solas hadn’t been able to tell, but Anders did have Justice.

“You’re Justice,” Cole said, “and Anders. Both at once? Or separate? I can’t tell anymore. What am I?”

“You tell me,” Anders said wearily.

“I can’t,” Cole said, sounding apologetic. “You’re not  _just_  Justice or Anders; you’re both. Spirit or human? Not a demon; demons take and I did not  _take_.” He paused, then continued in a voice that sounded relatively normal. “You can’t talk to each other, can you?”

Hawke felt the arm Anders had wrapped around him tighten. “No. Not anymore.”

“You miss it,” Cole said when Anders didn’t continue.

“He was my friend.”

“He misses it,” Cole said after a moment. “The days in Vigil’s Keep. Nathaniel, Oghren, the Warden-Commander,  _Anders_. He regrets hurting you; he never wanted to hurt you.”

Anders’s body stiffened slightly. “You can hear him?”

“He’s a spirit, too,” Cole said. “Maybe not like me, but he’s loud. Yes, I can hear him.”

Hawke shared a glance with Varric, who was looking rather awkward just sitting there but was also making no move to leave. He was probably planning on putting this in his next book.

“Does he know I’m sorry? That I didn’t want this to happen – for me to corrupt him—”

“You were angry,” Cole said, interrupting Anders, “but so was he. So much  _injustice_ , no one listening, they attacked us – wanted to  _kill_  us – so we killed them. Sword through our chest, but we are not of mortal men. What did we do?” For all the horror the words contained, his tone was matter-of-fact. “This was not justice – this was vengeance—”

“I know that,” Anders snapped. “You don’t need to go through that again—”

“He knows,” Cole said calmly. “He forgives you; he forgave you a long time ago.”

The “oh” Anders let out sounded like he’d been punched in the stomach.

Hawke shifted, going to touch Anders’s leg. “Anders?”

“It’s true.” Anders sounded wondering. “I can – I can actually feel that.”

Anders didn’t feel or look any different to Hawke’s senses, but he supposed there was something else that he couldn’t see.

“But he’s sorry,” Cole continued.

“What’s he sorry for?” There was confusion in Anders’s tone.

“Everything?” Varric muttered.

“He lost himself,” Cole answered. “So many doubts, he couldn’t hold on. Hawke helped; always Justice, never Vengeance. Not an abomination.”

Hawke felt himself flush and pulled his cloak up to hide the lower half of his face. He deliberately ignored Varric, but he could tell his friend was smirking.

Anders’s arm around him tightened, the grip reassuringly steady even through the thrum of pleased embarrassment that rushed through him.

“You don’t like not knowing.” Cole’s voice was quiet. “What he wants, what I want, what I  _am_. Tangled up in knots; am I Justice or is he?”

“It’s done, Cole,” Anders said tiredly. “It’s easier now than it was.”

Hawke saw Cole duck his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted, pained.

“I don’t either.”

Cole said nothing else, and Hawke felt him move away after some minutes passed.

“Kid’s gone,” Varric announced, looking around. He pulled a face. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

Hawke moved to straighten so he could evaluate Anders, but he was abruptly pulled in tighter. A second later he felt Anders hide his face in his hair.

“Anders?”

Anders shook his head, face still hidden in Hawke’s hair. “He’s right, you know,” he mumbled, voice muffled. “You keep us grounded.”

Varric wasn’t looking at them, head deliberately turned away to inspect a nonexistent something on the ground.

Exhaling softly, Hawke reached for where Anders had his hand fisted in Hawke’s cloak, linking their fingers together. He didn’t say anything.

What else could he say but that Anders kept him grounded as well?

* * *

When Solas came up to him the next evening while Hawke was frowning down at a map, Hawke didn’t even bother looking up before saying, “Please don’t tell me we’re lost.”

Solas didn’t respond immediately. Then, carefully, “I would not have done so.”

“Oh good.” Hawke rubbed his mouth as he looked ahead into the evening light, sighing when he saw more mountains and more snow. Also some trees. “Because I’ve just been leading us north and unless this compass is wrong that means we shouldn’t be lost.”

“We are not lost,” Solas assured him, which did help Hawke feel somewhat better.

“Great.” Hawke glanced back at him. “Did you need something?”

“Cole came to me last night.”

“Do we need Anders for this conversation? Because I think we need Anders. This seems like an Anders-type conversation.”

Before Solas could say anything else, Hawke had his map rolled up and went in search of Anders. It wasn’t difficult to find him as Hawke had set up not far from the healer’s tent and Anders wouldn’t be anywhere else.

Anders was checking up on Roderick when Hawke located the proper tent. Roderick actually had his mouth shut and wasn’t saying anything at all, which Hawke had previously thought impossible.

“Did you need something?” Anders asked, glancing to him.

“It’ll keep.”

“Not that it has to.” Anders straightened and stepped back from Roderick. “I’m done here.” He addressed Roderick next, “So long as you don’t go around getting stabbed on a daily basis you should be fine.”

Roderick stood, inclining his head in Anders’s direction. “You have my thanks, Anders.” His eyes darted to Hawke. “I had not thought so before, but the Maker blessed us with your presence.”

Anders snorted. “That’s a first if I’ve ever heard it.”

Roderick caught Hawke’s eyes, opened his mouth as if to say something, but then shut it and left. It was entirely possible he’d seen Hawke’s “do not get into this right now Maker help you” face. (Varric claimed it had once intimidated Meredith herself. Hawke told him to stop writing tall tales.)

“Solas wanted a word,” Hawke told Anders once Roderick was gone. “Cole spoke to him.”

“I wonder what about,” Anders said dryly. “Let’s not do it here.”

The only two other people in the tent were asleep, but Hawke followed Anders out to where Solas was standing.

“Is this where you start cursing me out?” Anders said without further ado. “Because if it is, I’ll pass.”

Solas raised an eyebrow, which was the only outward reaction he had. “Not at all. You wanted to help your friend; I find that an admirable decision. Cole simply wants to help, but he does not know how.”

“And you do?”

“I confess I have not seen something like this before,” Solas admitted. “Then again, I had not known that it was possible to physically pull a spirit from the Fade without any hope of return.”

“Great, thanks.” Anders shrugged dismissively, nose wrinkling. “That was helpful. You can go and tell Cole that, too.”

“I am curious,” Solas said, ignoring the sarcasm in Anders’s tone. “Spirit healers work by drawing energy from a Fade spirit, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Where do you draw your energy from now?”

Anders sighed, shoulders slumping. “It was a spirit of hope before. But I lost contact with it after…” He shook his head. “Justice lets me use his energy when I need it.”

Solas nodded, looking like he’d expected the answer. “And what is an abomination?”

“A mage possessed by a demon,” Anders answered slowly, sounding wary. He frowned. “Is there a point to this or are you trying to give me a lecture? I haven’t been an apprentice in years.”

“I do have a point,” Solas said patiently. His eyes flicked towards Hawke. “When demons control a mage’s spirit in the Fade, thus gaining access to their bodies, that creates an abomination. Some are able to hide themselves in the guise of a human; others are not so skilled. However…” He pursed his lips. “Justice was physically drawn through the Veil and into this world; he no longer had a presence in the Fade. So you accepted him into your own body. In doing so, you merged in a way that no other being has.”

“I’m expecting flowers and an apology for my loss any second now,” Anders said, sighing.

Solas ignored the interjection. “I cannot see a way of separating you two without killing one – your spirits are too intertwined at this point.”

“He’s not a demon, though,” Hawke said plainly, watching Solas keenly.

“No,” Solas confirmed. “Not at the moment. Perhaps he was at one point. Your fears could have changed his nature, as spirits reflect the expectations of those they meet. But he is no demon. Nor is he entirely a spirit. Just as you are no longer entirely human.”

Anders frowned, head ducking slightly. “Fantastic. What  _am_  I then?”

“I don’t know.” Solas seemed to have no qualms in admitting this.

“You’re Anders,” Hawke said when Anders didn’t say anything.

Anders turned to him, still frowning. “Did you know?”

“How?” Hawke looked at Anders, taking in the entirety of his bright presence. Anders had never looked like a human, but he’d always thought that was because of Justice. “I told you that you weren’t an abomination.”

Anders’s lips quirked. “You say a lot of things, love. Sometimes they’re not true.”

Biting back what he wanted to say, Hawke frowned, glancing at Solas. Andraste’s ass, Anders knew what Hawke could see. Maybe not every bit of it, but Hawke hadn’t made an effort at hiding it from Anders.

“In this case, I would have to agree with Hawke.” Solas held Hawke’s gaze for a second before returning his eyes to Anders. “You are no abomination. If you would like, Cole and I can help.”

Anders raised his eyebrows. “Cole I understand, but you? You can’t hear Justice.”

“I have seen much from my journeys into the Fade,” Solas said. “There may not be a perfect solution, but something can be arranged so the situation improves.”

Anders glanced back at Hawke, who put up his hands. “I’ll support your decision.”

Looking back at Solas, Anders rubbed the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes, breathing out loudly, breath pluming in front of him.

Hawke inhaled, the air cold to his lungs and tinged with the Fade presence around Anders. It seemed to spike for a second but it subsided as quickly as it had come, and he could have imagined it if it weren’t for how Anders squared his shoulders.

“All right,” Anders said. “I suppose there’s nothing to lose.”

Solas dipped his head. “Thank you. Both of you.” With one last lingering look, Solas left, leaving them alone.

Hawke didn’t hesitate before reaching out to embrace Anders, wrapping his arms around him from behind and setting his chin on Anders’s shoulder. “Okay?” he asked quietly.

Anders rested a hand on Hawke’s arm, seemingly absentmindedly. He was looking off into the distance. “I don’t know. Maybe they can help but…I don’t want to hope too much.”

“I’ll hope for you,” Hawke suggested.

There was no verbal response aside from a hum. Then, “Shit, what are you doing still standing?”

Hawke wasn’t anywhere near as exhausted as he’d been the last two days, but he let Anders fuss over him and bring him to a fire. They still had quite a bit more walking to do, and it wouldn’t hurt to be  _somewhat_  rested.

* * *

About three weeks later, Hawke’s legs were killing him from constantly going uphill and downhill. Or up-mountain and down-mountain really. Through the snow.

It wasn’t that he was in bad shape, but  _mountains_.

Also three weeks of nonstop trudging with only breaks for the night. And he had to continually keep ahead to be sure that they were on the right track. Solas helped, but his suggestions were more “maybe a little to the east?” and not “turn right at that mountain and then left.” Which would be more helpful than squinting at a compass in the bright glare of the sun and hoping for the best.

But something had changed in the air as they ate up the miles. Not necessarily the air itself, as that continued to be mountain air that was bitterly cold, but the  _Fade_.

It felt different here. Almost…purer.

Hawke couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but it wasn’t bad.

Anders seemed to like it as well, although that could have been the conversations he had been having with Cole and Solas. With someone there who could essentially be a voice for Justice, some tension that had always been there had left, and Anders seemed more relaxed.

Hawke was  _not_  slightly jealous about it.

He’d tried to help as best as he could since he’d met Anders, but it wasn’t like he had a line to Justice the way Cole did. Which had been most of the problem for as long as Hawke knew Anders and which had alleviated only slightly since they’d left Kirkwall.

Really, it always came back to Kirkwall, didn’t it?

Hawke wouldn’t be surprised if the problems with Justice stemmed from the blighted city. The Fade there was certainly sick enough to twist even the most benevolent spirit, and Justice was too much of a fighter to really be considered a gentle one.

Shaking the thoughts off, Hawke clambered up the current mountain he had decided to tackle to scout ahead. From the meaningful looks Solas had shot his way when he chose it, he must not have been very far off from Skyhold.

Solas was following after him, which probably meant he was right.

Hawke stepped up over the crest, and then had to stop cold, eyes widening at the sight laid out before him.

There was an icy valley below, but in the middle and on top of another mountain was an enormous fortress. It was much bigger than anything Hawke had conceived of when Solas had told him about it, and it was in the middle of  _nowhere_.

“Skyhold,” Solas said simply, standing next to Hawke.

Hawke scanned the route they would need to take to get to the fortress. Manageable, but it would probably take another day with everything they had.

This time, when he looked back at Skyhold for one last look at the future base of the Inquisition, something like a curtain seemed to fall over it, rippling strangely before spreading outwards. But then it was gone, and Skyhold looked like it had before.

Hawke glanced at Solas, but he didn’t seem to have noticed anything. Not wanting to have to answer any questions that he couldn’t, Hawke turned and began the trek back down.

They were almost there.

* * *

A few days later, Hawke was finally “allowed” up to Skyhold. Not that he’d protested much in favor of letting more skilled individuals up first to check the fortress’s integrity and how hospitable it was to a force the Inquisition’s size. They’d lost people in the attack on Haven, but there were still over a hundred people to account for.

But now that Skyhold’s integrity had been vouched for, they were slowly starting to move people into it.

Hawke had to admit to some trepidation, the vision of what he’d seen on that mountain still stark in his mind. He had no idea  _what_  that had been, only it wasn’t normal.

And the Veil felt strange here. Not like it was thin, but more like a curtain he could peel back if only he knew how to grab hold of it.

Not that he wanted to.

He didn’t really fancy opening another Breach here and  _actually_  being responsible for it.

“Shit, this thing looks even bigger up close,” Varric said, craning his neck back as they approached the outer wall.

“Compared to it looking small before?” Dorian asked.

“Before we weren’t exactly standing  _in_  it, were we?”

Ignoring the byplay, Hawke continued up to the gates, Anders by his side. He kept a wary eye out for anything odd, the image of that strange vision he’d seen earlier still clear in his mind. But Skyhold seemed perfectly normal except for being a fortress in the middle of Frostback Mountains.

Nothing was perfect.

Exhaling softly as he entered the courtyard, Hawke craned his head back to take in the enormous structure that loomed over their heads, reaching to the sky. There was a spiraling staircase ahead of them that seemed to lead to another courtyard above them. To their right was nothing but rubble and stones from a bridge overhead that seemed to have collapsed at some point, and it was blocking whatever was on that side.

Hawke’s first impression of the place was that it was incredibly intimidating and that it was also strangely green for being in the mountains. There was no snow on the ground, but there were some puddles where snow might have been before it melted.

It was much warmer than it had been at the mountain’s base and for absolutely no logistical reason he could think of.

Except for how the place was absolutely  _saturated_  in magic. Hawke couldn’t take a breath without inhaling it and picking out a dozen different spells worked into the atmosphere. Even his feet tingled from the enchantments woven into the stone.

Hawke didn’t want to know what it would feel like when he touched the actual walls.

“Oh my.” Dorian sounded amazed. “It’s actually warm here. Color me surprised.”

“Color me pleased,” Varric added. “And here I was thinking we’d be spending the next year in the snow.”

“Maybe if you actually wore something that didn’t reveal half your chest…” Anders said slowly.

“And deprive everyone of this sight?”

Hawke dropped his gaze from where he’d followed the line of the battlements, taking a few more steps forward. Only to nearly run into somebody that walked directly before him.

He flinched back, bumping into Dorian, about to apologize when he realized just what he’d almost run into.

A  _ghost_?

Dorian was saying something, but Hawke’s attention was on the ghost that was walking across the courtyard. It was an elf clad in what looked like battle armor, but it did nothing other than walk the length of the courtyard to the staircase before it disappeared.

Anders’s hand on his arm brought his attention back to the others, and Hawke realized he was still leaning against Dorian. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Ah…” Hawke glanced back to where he’d last seen the ghost, but there was nothing there. “Did you…see something?”

Anders frowned, eyes flicking away to look at the courtyard. “Did you?”

“I…” Hawke ran a hand over the back of his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “No,” he said eventually. “It was nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Dorian sounded concerned, and a hand came to rest on Hawke’s shoulder. “I don’t mind having you swoon into my arms, but that’s not something you do.”

“It’s fine.” Hawke mentally shook himself, which didn’t help all that much considering how all his senses were prickling with the magic inundating Skyhold.

Well, it’d only get better if he spent time here. Hopefully. (It hadn’t with Kirkwall.)

Making as if nothing was wrong, Hawke followed the ghost’s tracks to the stairs, carefully picking his way up on the overgrown steps. The top courtyard was bigger than expected, albeit with rubble in corners and a building on the other end that had clearly seen better days.

Looking to his left, Hawke looked up the staircase that led to the main building. It was chipped in places, but other than that it looked solid enough.

He felt Cassandra step up next to him. “There is a great deal of work to be done before this place is remotely in decent condition.”

“I don’t know.” Hawke gave her a wry smile. “It’s better than Lothering.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Now of that I have no doubt. But this is to be the base of the Inquisition.” She sighed. “Such as it is.”

Hawke hesitated briefly before knocking his knuckles against her shoulder, giving her a softer smile. “It’ll be fine. We’ve got what we need.”

“I…” A faint pink hue dusted Cassandra’s cheek much to Hawke’s bemusement. “I suppose we do. E-excuse me. I will see to Cullen.”

She stalked off, but not before Varric let out a low chuckle. “Oh boy, that’s going to be fun.”

Hawke glanced down at him, unsure of what he meant. “What?”

Varric just grinned up at him, looking far too innocent for his own good. “Nothing.”

“I don’t think you want to know,” Anders said, hand curving around Hawke’s elbow. He was looking after Cassandra, an odd expression on his face. He seemed to shake it off a few seconds later, giving Hawke a small smile and leaning into kiss his cheek. “Come on. Let’s go see what else we can poke our noses into before they chase us out because it’s too ‘dangerous.’”

* * *

They’d set their tents up in the upper courtyard that night. Hawke was actually relieved for the warmth now that it meant he didn’t have to do it himself to keep from freezing.

As was everyone else it seemed, especially since most didn’t have the same tricks.

He saw another ghost that night, a tall figure winding its way up the stairs to the main hall. He tracked it until it disappeared through the doors, wispy white energy trailing off it.

No one else saw it, not even the agents that the ghost walked by, so he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.

Fade ghosts – or memories – weren’t only visible to mages. Regular humans could see them, too.

And while Hawke had keener senses than most people and mages, that didn’t explain this.

It was a thought that stayed with him even to the next morning. And then it was promptly pushed to the wayside because of the  _looks_  he saw the templars shooting Anders.

Hawke hadn’t noticed them before, but he’d been busy leading the Inquisition through the mountains the past three weeks. Anders had also stuck close for most of that time except for when he’d been checking up on the injured.

Some goodwill should have been racked up thanks to Anders’s actions after Haven, but he supposed that was too naïve. Mages were still feared, and Anders had a worse reputation than some.

When Cassandra beckoned him over in the late morning, Hawke followed after making sure that Varric would be staying by Anders. He didn’t like the looks Anders was receiving, and templars could figure out just about anything when given enough leeway.

“We need a word in private,” Cassandra told him once he joined her.

Hawke gave a pointed look around. “Not much privacy here. Unless you mean the bushes over there?”

Cassandra had an expression that could have either been “no kidding” or “Maker please.” “Quite. But I don’t think the bushes will be large enough for all of us. Come – Leliana has set up down here.”

Leliana had set up her spymaster’s tent close to where Cullen was receiving reports from his soldiers. She had an optimal view of Skyhold’s front gates and was back to the large wall that blocked off the lower courtyard.

Her tent was both large enough for all of them and also had the means to block them from prying ears and eyes.

Or maybe just the eyes if there was shouting.

There was something about their body language that told Hawke he wasn’t really going to like this conversation. “If one of you is going to tell me that we need to find another remote mountain base, I quit.”

“What?” Cassandra sounded alarmed. “No. We will not be moving anywhere.”

“For now,” Cullen added. “Skyhold is more defensible than Haven. Hopefully once it’s fixed up it will be what we need.”

“That is not why you are here,” Cassandra said evenly, meeting Hawke’s eyes. “The Inquisition needs a leader.”

Hawke tilted his head. “You’re doing a pretty good job of it. Maybe it’s not exactly traditional, but more heads are better than one. Less chance of something going wrong if one gets chopped off.”

There was a wince from Cullen at the reminder.

“That…is perhaps true but not what we need.” Cassandra sounded flustered. She shook her head, voice more assured now when she continued. “You most likely know that we met Varric in Kirkwall to ask him where you were.”

“Interrogated, you mean?” Hawke said lightly. “He might have told me. He’s still peeved about the book; it was a first edition.”

Cassandra looked slightly guilty. “It was?”

“The Inquisition was just starting at that point,” Leliana cut in, perhaps taking pity on Cassandra. “We were looking for the right leader. At first we looked for the Hero of Ferelden, but she was missing.”

“So we looked for you,” Cassandra said. “Only Varric had no idea where you were.”

Which was a lie but Hawke certainly wasn’t going to tell them otherwise. Still,  _that_  had been the reason behind them accosting Varric?

“Me?” Hawke couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “Why me?”

“You are the Champion of Kirkwall,” Cassandra answered matter-of-factly. “People would have followed you.”

Hawke frowned slightly, unsettled. “You looked elsewhere,” he said eventually.

“We had no choice,” Leliana said. “Truthfully, we had stopped looking by the time Conclave took place. Only…” She dropped her chin, hood casting her face in shadows.

“You came,” Cassandra said. “As if by divine providence. When we most needed someone, you stepped in. The Inquisition needs a leader, and it is not any of us. It needs someone who has been making the decisions from the beginning.”

“You realize you’re describing yourself?” Hawke said, a slight tinge of desperation in his voice. “You started the Inquisition—”

“You recruited the mages  _and_  the templars,” Cassandra said.

“I didn’t touch the templars—”

“I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t insisted I use my contacts,” Cullen pointed out, smiling wryly.

“You led us here,” Cassandra continued. “After you ensured that we made it out of Haven. Champion – Hawke,” she corrected herself, “you are the Inquisitor we have been looking for. It remains only to make it official.”

Now that it was said, Hawke couldn’t ignore it anymore. Even joking would do nothing, although he rather wanted to laugh inappropriately.

Him?  _Inquisitor_?

“You want to make  _me_  Inquisitor?” Hawke asked incredulously. “After what happened in Kirkwall? That was one city, and it tore itself apart because of me! You really want to put me in charge of the  _Inquisition_?”

“Kirkwall was not your responsibility,” Cullen said firmly. “What happened there was because of us.” He looked grim. “The templars failed. Knight-Commander Meredith went too far. What happened that night may have been the last straw, but that wasn’t you.”

Hawke bit his tongue, memories of ash, smoke, burning flesh, and screams inundating him.

“I am sorry,” Cullen said quietly, genuinely. “It should never have reached that point.”

“It did,” Hawke couldn’t help but say.

“You did what you could,” Cullen said. “I saw you. You did your damn best to hold Kirkwall together after the Qunari invasion. That it failed isn’t because of you. And that’s why I know this is the right decision.”

Was it?  _Was it_? What qualifications did Hawke have other than being the Champion of Kirkwall? A city he couldn’t keep together? A city he had  _actively chosen_  to tear apart in the end?

“You don’t need me,” Hawke tried. “The Breach is closed.”

“Corypheus is still a threat,” Leliana pointed out. “You are the only one who has faced him before.”

“I can do that without leading.”

“You have doubts,” Cassandra said, brow furrowing. “But please…trust that we have faith in you.” She paused, then added, “Is that not my job? To have faith enough for both of us?”

The words, surprising as they were, startled a laugh out of Hawke. “I’m not sure if even faith is enough for this, Cassandra.”

“The people follow you,” Cassandra said. “Not me or Cullen.  _You_. Would you abandon them now?”

Hawke bristled. “I’m not  _abandoning_  anyone. I’m simply questioning your decision.”

“You wish to protect the mages, don’t you?” Leliana asked shrewdly. “Being Inquisitor would help.”

Agh,  _damn_  Leliana. She had a point. One that Hawke hadn’t considered before.

Hesitating, he rubbed his hands over his face, willing the anxious fluttering in his stomach to die down.

If he took this role…leaving wouldn’t be as easy as simply packing his bags and disappearing into the night. Not that he  _couldn’t_  do it…but there was a lot riding on the role of Inquisitor, even if Hawke didn’t know what it meant beyond being the figurehead of the organization.

Probably paperwork. And diplomacy.

He was going to end up punching someone he shouldn’t before the month was over, wasn’t he? Or putting his foot in his mouth because he couldn’t stop himself from making an inappropriate joke.

“Fine,” Hawke said finally, dropping his hands to meet their eyes. “I’ll do it.”

A sigh of relief seemed to sweep over them, Josephine dropping her eyes and Cassandra briefly dipping her head in what looked like could have been a prayer.

“Thank you,” Cullen said, sounding as relieved as he looked. “This means a great deal.”

“I’m sure,” Hawke said dryly.

“It will be done later today,” Josephine said, picking up a piece of parchment and looking at it.

“Wait – what?”

“It’s nothing so formal as what happened in Kirkwall,” Cullen told him, which didn’t help Hawke feel better at all.

Being officially named Champion had been a  _nightmare_. Even though the only thing Hawke had to do was stand there and look pretty. Meredith hadn’t wanted him talking.

“It will be somewhat formal,” Josephine disagreed. “An announcement needs to be made, Champion. I am sure you understand?”

“I do,” Hawke said entirely truthfully and hating every moment of it. “And I’m going to leave that to you. I’m going to step out and reevaluate my life choices.”

Before anyone could protest, he proceeded to do just that, heading back up the winding staircase and into his tent, ignoring the questions from Anders and Varric. Where he then let himself panic.

“Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_ ,” he muttered, head in his hands. He sat down heavily on the mats they’d been sleeping on, drawing his knees up to his chest.

He heard Anders crouch down beside him. “Hawke, what is it?”

Hawke didn’t move for a long instance, face buried in his knees. Then, shaking his head, he whispered, “They want me to be Inquisitor.”

A beat, and then a surprised “Oh.”

“Well,” Varric’s voice said brightly, “can’t say I saw that coming.”

“What did you say?” Anders asked.

“I said yes,” Hawke muttered, feeling Anders settle down beside him, shoulders brushing against his. “I wasn’t going to but…the mages, Anders. I brought them here. And then there’s Corypheus.” He turned his head just enough to look at Anders; he couldn’t read his lover’s expression, which had anxiety twisting his stomach into knots. “I don’t know if it’s the right decision…”

Anders huffed. “Whatever happened to checking out the Conclave and leaving?”

“It blew up,” Hawke offered.

“Shame.” Anders lapsed back into silence, but this time he touched Hawke’s shoulder, fingers gentle.

“I can go back out and tell them no,” Hawke said quietly, arms tightening around his legs.

“No,” Anders said immediately, fingers squeezing briefly. “It – maybe it’s a mistake. But we can’t leave things here. It wouldn’t be right.”

“It doesn’t have to be me,” Hawke said, digging his fingers into his legs. “We can stay for now, but it could be someone else.”

“Who?” Varric asked.

“Fuck, Cassandra? She helped get it started—”

“I like Seeker now that she’s not stabbing my books, but she can’t take two steps without checking with Nightingale, Curly, and Ruffles. I don’t think we’ve got that kind of time. She would’ve left the mages in Redcliffe if you hadn’t insisted on going.”

“And now they’re here,” Hawke said. “As are the templars. I can’t just – I can’t just leave them. But what if what happened in Kirkwall—”

“I don’t see any insane Knight-Commanders running around,” Varric said offhandedly. “Yeah, there’s the red lyrium, but no one’s carrying around a giant sword made of it. I hope.”

Hawke managed a weak smile. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“If you do want to leave,” Anders said, “then we will. But don’t do it because of me.”

“Anders—”

“I can handle the templars.” Anders’s smile was slightly shaky, which didn’t help convince Hawke at all. “Besides, there are a lot of other mages here. It’ll be fine.” He slid closer, slinging his arm around Hawke’s neck to pull him in. “I think we can do a lot of good here. More than we could while on the run with just the two of us.”

Hawke pressed his nose to Anders’s neck, letting his smell calm his roiling nerves. “I don’t know if I’m the right choice,” he said quietly. “Me – leading this?”

“I know you are.”

“I’m going to agree with Blondie on this.” Varric seemed slightly disgruntled to be admitting this. “I can’t think of another person who’d do it better.”

Fucking anyone else.

But Hawke didn’t say anything, closing his eyes and hiding his face in Anders’s neck.

The decision was made. He supposed all that was left was for it to be made official.

* * *

Blackwall came up to Hawke shortly before the official announcement about the Inquisitor title was going to be made. Maybe there was something on Hawke’s face that said “Please talk to me before I go and fling myself off the nearest battlement,” since Cole had already tried to comfort him by rambling about how people were inspired by him; the Iron Bull had given him a drink that he’d downed in one go much to the other’s amusement; Solas had offered him a pat on the arm; and Dorian had suggested getting drunk later that night.

Hawke would be taking Dorian up on that offer as soon as he stopped panicking.

“It’s good that you have doubts,” Blackwall told him, mirroring Hawke’s stance with his folded arms.

“Is it?” Hawke didn’t think it’d be a good show to have the would-be Inquisitor stutter and stumble through their acceptance speech.

“It keeps you grounded,” Blackwall said. “Knowing that you may not be the best choice…it keeps you working to prove that you are.”

Hawke hadn’t thought of it that way before.

“I know you’ll do good,” Blackwall said encouragingly. “Even before I knew who you were, I knew you had the marks of a leader.”

“That’s…thanks, Blackwall.” Hawke stared up at the stairs where Cassandra and Leliana were conferring. Was that a sword in Leliana’s hands?

“A word of advice if I may?”

“Please.”

“Keep it short. Less chance of mucking things up.” Blackwall offered him a small grin.

“I definitely will,” Hawke managed, glad that his voice didn’t die on him when Cassandra beckoned him over at the foot of the stairs.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Hawke gave her a look. “I’m never ready, but let’s not keep them waiting.”

“You have led us this far,” Cassandra said. “I have faith you will lead us further yet. Or do you not believe me?”

“I…do.” Hawke rubbed a hand over his mouth, keenly aware of the people congregated in both courtyards. “I just worry that faith is misplaced.”

“I would be terrified handing this power to anyone,” Cassandra said frankly. “But I know who you are. Legends or not, you  _are_  the man I trust to lead the Inquisition.”

“All right.” Hawke looked up the stairs to where Leliana was standing. “Let’s do this.”

Every step further felt like signing his own death warrant, although he was probably exaggerating. Even the distraction of the magic woven into Skyhold’s ground couldn’t distract him.

Let alone the two ghosts that briefly appeared at the very top. Hawke glanced at them before turning his attention to Leliana and the sword she was holding out to him.

“Last chance to take it back,” Hawke said, trying for a lighthearted tone.

“We will not.” Cassandra stepped to the side, giving him a half-smile.

The sword glinted in the sunlight, almost taunting him. Taking a breath to bolster himself, Hawke grabbed hold of the hilt, relieved that it wasn’t as heavy as it looked like it should be.

Slowly turning, he tried not to notice how many eyes were on him. That Anders and Varric were part of the crowd was only slightly reassuring.

Remembering Blackwall’s advice, Hawke searched for the right words, for the message he wanted to convey. The reason for why he had accepted the title. “The Inquisition is for all,” he said, raising his voice enough to ensure it carried. He was glad it didn’t crack. “Mage, elf, dwarf, Qunari… We’re in this together. The Inquisition isn’t just one man; it’s all of us.”

It did rather feel like signing his own death warrant.

Even if it was exaggerating.

* * *

Once all the pomp and circumstance was over with, Hawke gladly abdicated the giant sword that held no redeeming value except for looking suitably shiny. But then he was dragged up the rest of the stairs and to the main hall, which everyone had been telling him to stay away from because it was dangerous.

It was probably no longer as dangerous.

Pushing open the large ornate doors, Hawke had enough time to take in the enormous hall they revealed before a chandelier crashed to the floor with a loud metallic shriek.

Hawke flinched back, bumping into Cullen.

Cullen steadied him, asking, “What is it?”

Blinking, Hawke found that the chandelier he’d seen crash to the ground was lying several feet from where it had landed, and it looked far dustier than expected considering what he’d just seen.

Only…had it had happened  _now_?

“Rats,” Hawke eventually said, mentally shaking himself and walking forward. “Or at least I thought I saw one.”

It was dirty enough for the lie to be plausible, debris and dust everywhere.

Whispers reached his ears, quiet enough that he couldn’t make out the words unless he strained his hearing. Only when he tried to find the source of them, there was no sign of anyone else.

Hawke’s eyes reached the far end of the hall, where a ghostly figure was standing by a window. It was cloaked, so all he could make out was its slender frame.

Making as if he was exploring the main hall, Hawke slowly approached the ghost. But it disappeared before he’d crossed half of the hall. This time he did hear clear words, although they were in no language he was fluent in.

“Dareth shiral.”

As if on cue, another ghost appeared by him, walking towards the entrance. He couldn’t make out any distinguishing features due to the hooded cloak shielding the face, but his gut told him it was an elf.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine asked tentatively, following his gaze but seeing presumably nothing. Her face didn’t register any surprise.

“It’s big,” was all Hawke said, shrugging loosely. “And we haven’t even seen all of it yet.” He glanced to the doors that were blocked by rubble.

How many other ghosts were hidden in Skyhold?

One walked on the balcony above their heads. Hawke ignored it in favor of looking at the others.

“Here is where it begins,” Cullen said, looking around.

“It began in the courtyard,” Leliana disagreed. “This is where we turn that promise into action.”

“But what do we do?” Josephine asked. “We know next to nothing about this Corypheus beyond what you have told us.” She indicated Hawke.

“Not entirely true,” Hawke said. “We know where he’s going to be. Do you remember Redcliffe?”

“The assassination of Empress Celene,” Leliana noted.

“Imagine the chaos her death would cause…” Josephine sounded wondering. “With his army…”

“An army he’ll bolster with a massive force of demons,” Cullen added, “or so the future tells us.”

“Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas, god or no god,” Josephine concluded, looking back at Hawke.

“That’s not going to happen,” Hawke said flatly. “We know his next steps, so we just need to move first.”

“When could he assassinate Empress Celene?” Cullen asked, turning to Leliana and Cassandra. “It isn’t as if he can just walk into the Winter Palace and do it himself.”

Leliana let out a low laugh. “Undoubtedly he has spies in place. But you’re right.” She glanced at Hawke. “From what you told us, Corypheus will want an audience. He won’t settle for a simple assassination in the dark.”

“Oh!” Josephine raised her hands to her mouth, pressing her fingers together as a large smile spread across her face. “The Grand Masquerade!”

If something had Josephine this excited, Hawke probably wasn’t going to like it. “You don’t mean the fun type of masquerade, do you?”

“With the urging of Duchess Florianne, Empress Celene is hosting peace talks under the auspices of the masquerade,” Josephine said. “It has been the talk of Orlais for weeks. Every power in Orlais will be there. It’s perfect for an assassin.”

“Then we need to be at that ball,” Cullen said. “When is it?”

“Two months,” Josephine said. “But…arranging an invitation will not be easy. Especially on short notice such as this.” She looked frustrated, bringing a hand up to pull lightly at her bun. “I will need to see what can be done.”

“We will likely need more of a presence in Orlais to secure an invitation,” Leliana said slowly.

“We’ll get it,” Hawke said. “In the meantime, Josephine will see about getting invitations. As for the rest of us…we’ll shore up Skyhold and make sure what happened at Haven can’t happen again.”

“You sent him running once,” Cullen said. “I doubt he’ll be so quick as to try again.”

“And I thought he was dead,” Hawke said dryly. “I’ve learned not to make assumptions with him.”

“Quite.” Cullen hesitated, then said, “If you could, perhaps taking some missions would help bolster Inquisition forces. We lost many in Haven, and it would help raise morale.”

This was something Hawke was more familiar with after his dog-and-pony show in Kirkwall. Meredith had had him running far too many errands to keep the “peace.” “I’ll see what I can do.”

It wouldn’t be too bad this time. Not if it meant leaving Skyhold and its mysterious ghosts behind.

* * *

The next week saw Hawke leaving for the Fallow Mire on horseback with Anders, Varric, and Blackwall. Inquisition solders had gone missing, and they couldn’t spare the resources for anything else. Scout Harding had also sent word that the Avaar in the region wanted to meet with the Herald of Andraste personally.

This was all very true.

What would probably be lost to history unless Varric put it into his next book were the corpse-infested swamps and how Hawke repeatedly fell into them because he couldn’t watch his feet since he was too distracted by the wraiths and wisps that kept floating around him.

It wasn’t very heroic, so it was entirely possible that it would be forgotten and relegated to blackmail material that would be pulled out during nights of Wicked Grace.

What  _would_  be remembered was the “epic smack down” Hawke had given the Avaar. With his status as a mage out in the open, he could pull out his flashier tricks. Like electrocuting the offending Avaar before the big one could get his maul anywhere near hitting distance.

The Inquisition soldiers rescued, Hawke could leave the Fallow Mire behind and return to Skyhold.

Which was great, since Hawke wasn’t exactly a fan of bogs, swamps, mires, or anything else resembling them. The nonstop rain hadn’t helped, and none of his clothes had been dry since he entered the Fallow Mire.

Probably the only good thing about the trip aside from rescuing the hapless soldiers was getting to know Blackwall better..

Cassandra had been torn about coming, but in the end she’d decided it would be better for her to stay and help organize efforts at rebuilding Skyhold. Solas had been too busy investigating the fortress and Hawke hadn’t wanted to disturb him. Dorian had been too engrossed in the library and the musty books to be torn away. Cole was still invested in making sure the templars and mages didn’t fight. As for the Iron Bull…no.

Traveling in such a small group with three other people – two of them being close friends – had been rather familiar and extremely nostalgic. The main difference was that there was no fighting about mages vs. templars or blood magic.

Card games had been unfortunately out thanks to the constant rain of the Fallow Mire, but there were other games to be had. Like trying to see who could slug each other with the biggest mud ball.

Scout Harding had a mean arm, and Hawke was still finding mud in his hair. (It was probably also from falling into the mire all the time.)

Hawke had been trying to flush the mud out of his boots with an arrow he’d filched from Varric when Anders struck up a conversation with Blackwall about the Wardens. It had been inevitable after Anders’s identity came out, although there’d been too little privacy before to discuss it.

As it was, Hawke still wasn’t sure he was supposed to overhear it.

“You hear it, don’t you? The music.”

“And if I do? It doesn’t change anything.”

“Doesn’t it? He gets into your head, you know. So loud you can’t hear anything but the music, so loud you can’t remember who you are except for what he wants you to think. Still think it doesn’t change anything?”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“I lost myself for a time. Almost killed my friends because Justice couldn’t… Hawke brought me back.”

Hawke had to close his eyes then, the feel of the rain gently beating against him the only sensation grounding him in the present and not in the Deep Roads. Where he’d almost—

“I’m not possessed by a spirit, Anders.”

“No, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get into your head – isn’t in there right now.”

“If I know what it is, what do I have to fear? What do  _you_  have to fear? You’re a Warden; darkspawn are what we kill.”

“Maybe I have what makes me a Warden, but that doesn’t mean I am one. I haven’t been around Wardens in years. I left that behind me when I went to Kirkwall.”

“…You don’t like the Wardens.” Blackwall had sounded surprised.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. They’re good at doing what they need to. Warden-Commander Cousland’s a friend, but everyone else? They’re all about focusing on what needs to be done and keeping secrets and throwing away personal items because it makes us ‘soft.’ Cousland was an exception, helping people where she could and trying to make things better, but she didn’t stay. The Grey Wardens that you know aren’t the Order I’m familiar with.”

“They might have changed. I haven’t exactly been with the Order myself recently.”

“Maybe.” Anders had paused then for a long moment, giving Hawke enough time to prod around his boots and give up on fishing the mud out before he spoke again. “If it were like that, I think I would have liked being a Warden.”

Hawke had made his presence known at this point but hadn’t brought the conversation up with Anders. There were some things even he didn’t know about Anders’s past, and the details of his life as a Warden were one of them.

Hawke hadn’t even known being a Warden came with a time limit until encountering Larius in the Deep Roads.

In any case, they were out of the Fallow Mire, although Hawke still had mud in his boots and probably in his shirt.

The entire trip took about a week and a half with them pushing their horses, and Hawke was glad to be back in Skyhold by the end of it. The keep looked different already, scaffolding having been erected in several locations, that one bridge repaired, and rubble cleared out to open the lower courtyard. It also revealed the stables.

The main hall looked entirely different as well, the debris gone and tables and chairs set up along the walls.

Skyhold looked more like a proper base and less like the ruins they’d been originally.

The ghosts were unfortunately still there.

Hawke supposed it was a good thing that they could be more easily ignored considering how many people were wandering around. They didn’t show up all the time either, and it was never the same memory that he saw.

“I see the healers have moved,” Anders said, looking to where the healer’s tent was standing where Leliana’s tent had been. “Only they’re still outside.”

“I’ll have them moved,” Hawke said, scanning the battlements and several towers that looked to be in bad shape. “Being Inquisitor should be good for something.”

“Paperwork?” Varric offered.

“Shh. If we don’t bring it up, they might forget.”

“Or you can toss it in the fire. That’s what I do.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Blackwall said. “That’s what causes paperwork to multiply.”

Varric put on an offended face. “Say it ain’t so!”

Rolling his shoulders, Hawke set his staff up by the wall where Cullen’s table was set up. He missed his daggers; there hadn’t been any time to get new ones. He was lucky that there’d been a set of armor that he could borrow.

But everyone expected him to carry a staff now. It wasn’t like he was hiding anymore.

“Stop looking at your staff like it’s offended you,” Anders said. “It hasn’t done anything.”

“It exists.” Hawke did stop glaring at the staff. Which  _had_  done something since it had been the key to Corypheus’s prison. It also looked ugly.

“Yes, and without it you wouldn’t have been able to beat to death a few dozen corpses.”

“They were already dead,” Hawke said.

“You made them deader.”

“Are we talking corpses?” Varric asked. “It’s a shame Sparkler wasn’t there; corpses are right up his alley.”

A dog was barking, the sound loud enough to cut through the random chatter of the people around them.

Hawke hadn’t known someone had brought a dog in.

“I hope it’s a mabari,” he said to Anders, smiling wistfully.

“Of course you would.” Anders had his brow furrowed, but he didn’t sound displeased. “Couldn’t it have been a cat instead?”

No one was quieting the dog, and the barking seemed to be getting louder.

Hawke turned in the direction of the sound, hoping to see the dog. He hadn’t seen any for ages; the rabid mabari encountered in the Hinterlands didn’t count.

But the dog wasn’t anywhere in the courtyard, and the people around him were beginning to wear expressions of confusion and aggravation.

Hawke moved sideways, slowly approaching the open gate.

“Maybe you shouldn’t get too close,” Blackwall warned, clearly also remembering the rabid mabari of the Hinterlands.

“I don’t—” Hawke broke off when he saw the mabari barging through the gates. The mabari saw him as well, making a direct beeline to him, and Hawke recognized him just before he was pounced on. “Hessarian, no—!”

A fully-grown war dog was as large as a dwarf, and Hessarian had always been on the larger side. What’s more, Hessarian was fully capable of taking down a grown man in five seconds flat.

Hawke found himself sprawled on his back in the grass, an enthusiastic tongue slobbering his face.

“Not being attacked then?” Anders sounded amused.

“I missed you, too,” Hawke crooned, rubbing at Hessarian’s ears. He had to close his eyes as Hessarian licked his face again, turning it so that he could speak. “But what are you doing here?”

After another moment of enthusiastic whining and licking, Hawke managed to push Hessarian off him enough so he could sit up, still keeping one hand in his fur. “You didn’t walk all this way by yourself, did you?”

He’d left Hessarian with Carver, and there was no way that Hessarian would have abandoned Carver.

Which only meant…

His brother was here.

* * *

_He was…numb. There wasn’t any other way for him to explain it._

_The anger had burnt itself out the moment he’d buried the dagger in Quentin’s forehead. The grief had… Well, he suspected that was still there, but he didn’t know._

_Pressing his forehead into his hands, he closed his eyes._

_Yet he couldn’t miss the quiet footsteps._

_“Gamlen told me,” Carver’s voice said flatly._

_He didn’t say anything, unmoving._

_“He told me Mother’s dead.”_

_He restrained a flinch, squeezing his eyes shut at the sight of his mother’s mutilated body._

_There was the sound of Carver pacing for several moments before he stopped. “Well?” There was quivering fury in his tone. “Do you have nothing to say?”_

_He swallowed dryly, dropping his hands to between his knees. He didn’t look up. “What should I say?”_

_“ **Something**!” Carver snapped._

_“Something,” he repeated dully._

_There was a snarl, and then the sound of something shattering. Maybe that atrocious vase Isabela had snuck in. “Don’t **do**  that!”_

_He looked up now, unsurprised to see Carver’s face flushed with anger and his eyes glittering. “What should I do, Carver? What do you want from me?”_

_“You were supposed to **protect**  her!” Carver shouted. “That’s why we came to Kirkwall, isn’t it? So she would be  **safe**?”_

**_And happy,_ ** _he couldn’t say, the words sticking in his throat. Had she ever been happy?_

_“I’m sorry,” he said instead._

_“Don’t be sorry,” Carver said acerbically. “Why didn’t you **fix**  it?”_

_“Anders couldn’t—”_

_“ **Hang Anders**!” Carver snarled. “Why didn’t  **you**  fix it? You’re the mage, brother!”_

_“I can’t bring the dead back. I can’t **heal** , Carver.”_

_“ **Why was she dead in the first place**?” Carver’s voice cracked on the last word. He paused, jaw flexing. “How could you let that happen? You knew what was going on! That there was someone preying on women. You  **knew**!”_

_But he hadn’t known they were after their mother. He hadn’t known who they were, having only taken care of an accomplice rather than the actual party responsible._

_“I tried—” he started._

_Carver slammed his hands down on the desk by the wall. “Trying isn’t good enough! You **tried**  to save Bethany, and look what happened there! She died! And now Mother’s dead, too!”_

_He couldn’t help the flinch, swallowing thickly past the stone lodged in his throat. “I know,” was all he could manage when it became clear Carver was waiting for a response._

_“You know?” Carver echoed incredulously. “Is that all you have to say?”_

_“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry? **I am sorry**. I didn’t want this to happen? I—”_

_“ **It’s your fault**!” Carver snapped. “You haven’t said that. You weren’t fast enough. You didn’t save her. What the bloody hell is your magic good for if you couldn’t save Mother? You failed Bethany, and now you failed her, too.”_

_He didn’t move, breath stuck in his lungs as the sickening sounds of bones cracking and a body squelching filled his ears, along with a cut off scream._

**_“Bethany!”_ **

_Carver wanted him to say something but he – he couldn’t. Words failed him, bile rising in his throat and his magic all too close to the surface._

_Slumping forwards, he pressed his fingers to his eyes, bidding himself to take several deep breaths, willing the magic down before he did something he would regret. His muscles trembled, fine tremors that he could feel through his fingers._

_“I’m leaving,” Carver said after a long moment. “Before you get me killed, too.”_

_His breath punched out of him in a ragged exhale, sparks of magic scattering over his skin. He heard something shatter next to him, but Carver was already gone._

_The fine trembles had worsened to full-body shudders, his hands moving to fist his hair as he curled in on himself, face pressed to his knees._

**_“My little boy has become so strong. I love you. You’ve always made me so proud.”_ **

_A wretched sob wrenched itself free. Followed by another and then even more, as if a dam had broken. As soon as it started, he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, chest choking with everything that he just **could not say**._

_He was sorry, he was so sorry, he was so **damn sorry** —_

_“Maker, Hawke, love—”_

_He startled at the touch, Anders’s familiar fingers gently prying his fingers loose from their death grip in his hair. “A-Anders—”_

_“Bodahn found me,” Anders said quietly, voice low and right in front of him. “I was on my way up anyway but – that doesn’t matter.”_

_He grabbed hold of Anders’s hands before he could withdraw, terror rising in him before he could shove it down._

_Anders didn’t flinch, squeezing back. “What did he say?” There was an indiscernible note in his voice, but the Fade sparked around him in anger._

_He didn’t lift his head from where it was resting on his knees, not wanting to see whatever would be on Anders’s face. “Nothing I didn’t know was true.”_

_“Bullshit.” Anders’s grip didn’t tighten, but he knelt in front of Hawke. “What did he **say**?”_

_“It’s my fault,” he said, voice cracking halfway through. “It’s **my** —”_

_The scent and taste of the Fade was painfully strong, and Anders’s voice reverberated. “ **It was**_ **_ not _ ** **_._ ** _”_

_His hands tingled where Anders gripped them. “If I’d just been faster—”_

_“You worked as quickly as you could once you realized what happened. What else could you have done, Hawke?”_

_He took a moment to respond, shoulders shuddering sporadically. “I could have caught him sooner.”_

_“You didn’t know what he was doing. You didn’t know who he was.”_

_“I knew he was doing **something** —”_

_Anders’s grip did tighten now. “It wasn’t your **job**. It was Aveline’s as guard captain.”_

_“It was my job to protect her.” And Bethany._

_Anders didn’t say anything for a long choking moment. Then, “Look at me.”_

_He didn’t move immediately, chest squeezing uncomfortably. He didn’t know what he would see on Anders’s face._

_“Look at me, love,” Anders repeated, voice gentler._

_He did look now, lifting his head to meet Anders’s eyes. His breath stuttered when he saw the watery smile on Anders’s face. When Anders cupped his face, his skin tingled at the touch._

_“I’m sorry this happened,” Anders said, thumbs wiping away the stray tears on his cheeks. “Your mother – your mother was amazing. She didn’t deserve what happened. But that wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do it. Maybe – maybe we could have been faster. Maybe there was something I could have done if we’d been there earlier. Maybe—” He dropped his chin, closing his eyes as he shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated._

_“You don’t know that it **wasn’t** ,” he snapped. “I wasn’t fast enough to save Bethany, and I couldn’t save Mother!”_

_“She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”_

_Anger burnt hot in his stomach, and he threw Anders’s touch off before he could rethink the motion, jerking back from him. “You don’t know what she would do.”_

_She’d blamed him for Bethany’s death, too._

_Anders’s eyes pinched, but there was no other reaction from him. “You’re right.” The words were slightly strained. “I don’t. Not really. But I know she loved you. And I know Carver is a royal ass.” He didn’t reach out to touch, his hands tightening where they’d fallen on the armrests. “And even if you don’t believe me…can you trust that I’m here for you?”_

_He pulled in ragged breaths, heart hurting with every beat, eyes meeting Anders’s. Nodding stiltedly, he was able to remain somewhat composed for another second before surging forwards to grab hold of Anders, unable to stop the tears that came again._

_Anders’s arms tightened around him, reassuringly steady._

_Please don’t let him lose Anders. **Please**._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so now the mystery behind Carver and Hawke's strained relationship is revealed! The last flashback takes place in Act 2 before the Qunari start rampaging through Kirkwall. And thus also before Hawke releases Corypheus. As for the first one, I didn't have a specific time frame in mind, except obviously after they get together. So it could be set in-between Act 2 and 3 or sometime in Act 2.
> 
> Anders's new relationship with Justice after Solas and Cole came into the picture is going to be revealed slowly.
> 
> This is also the point in the story where _timing_ becomes more important. Thedas is large, and we have the Inquisition _all_ over the map in the game. That takes travel time! Nothing is actually pointed out in the game itself, but I did some outside research by looking at other fans' math and the actual map to try and figure out reasonable travel times from point A to point B.
> 
> Next chapter we're obviously going to see some Carver Hawke in the present day! And it only took 100,000+ words to get here.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! And thanks for your patience in the meantime while I get the next arc of the story set up.


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